A series of unfortunate events that is my life
by BC
Summary: FMA HP crossover that is entirely different from what you might have ever read. Angst, tragedy, romance. Slash.
1. Prologue

I own neither Fullmetal Alchemist, nor Harry Potter. I own the idea and the audacity, though.  
Beware: crossover, maybe a few spoilers, violence, slash, tragedy (read character death).  
This story is dedicated to all FMA and HP fans, but most importantly to Kara (Neo Diji) as an early birthday gift.  
Enjoy.  
Brynn

Prologue

Roy Mustang closed the door carefully, extremely quiet to avoid being noticed. It was well past midnght and the room he had sneaked in didn't by any means belong to him. It was much too small, much too tidy and much too empty.

In fact, there was hardly anything but the most necessary to survive – a desk, bent slightly under the weight of a stack of tomes, a case – virtually empty, though, as he could see through the half-open door – and a bed close to the window. The light-bulb over his head lacked the shade. He, of course, didn't intend to turn on the light anyway, but the realisation made the place seem even less personal, less inhabited.

As it was, the only light in the poky bedroom was provided by the thin slice of the Moon shining through the curtainless pane of glass. It fell on a face of a child. Subconsciously, Roy's eyes welled with tears. How many times had he told himself that _he_ wasn't a child? How many times had he been told by others? Still, how could he believe it, having seen the pain, the fear, the weakness… all that made people human, all that made the Fullmetal Alchemist different from the rest of the dogs of Military. The way he was surprised by his emotions. The way he couldn't handle them…

Though Roy wasn't exactly the one to talk. Suppressing the guilt he sat on the edge of the bed, wincing when it was much harder than he anticipated. Had the child no self-preservation?

'No, he has not. At least until he's face to face with death… Like he happens to be a lot lately.'

Who were they trying to fool? They were all face to face with death daily, only Fullmetal got it worse than most of them, because he usually took care of the most dangerous stuff. This time they let him go from the hospital after only a week, and actually, he had managed to get out on his own. With crutches, of course, but on his own. Before he even got into the car he shouted at his brother to "Get Winry to come on Friday". Somehow even incapitated the child demanded (and received) respect.

Perhaps that was what made Roy interested.

The mechanic had, naturally, come as requested and patched up Fullmetal's automail, without leaving a wrench-shaped bruise anywhere on his body. She had intended to leave one – Roy knew because she voiced that intention in front of him – but seeing the pitiful state the child was in (because he had attempted to save ten or twenty more people before that building crashed on him) who could add more pain? Fullmetal didn't deserve more pain, though he knew how to handle it.

Perhaps that was why he intrigued Roy so much.

It was Tuesday now. Not yet five days since Fullmetal was fully mobile once again. And today he was assigned to a new mission. Roy's hand absentmindedly traced the thin blankets. The child under them was shivering, with cold maybe (it was rather chilly in the bare room, due to the lack of isolation) but, judging from the scowl on his much too old face, more likely because of the nightmare. Roy wasn't new to Fullmetal's nightmares, but he doubted there were more than four people (counting the child himself) who knew about them. That was why only Roy recognised the shallow but visible wrinkles on the skin that was supposed to be smooth for years to come yet. Alphonse must have known, too, but he had voiced the opinion that his brother is frowning too much when people call him short, or a girl, or a _child_…

'Sometimes I wonder… can the brother truly sleep? Does he not notice the nightmares?' A car outside gave a rather nasty back-shot and Fullmetal jerked. A soft cry escaped him.

"Not him… please… don't…" When the voice grew gradually quieter Roy leant closer to hear the end of the plea. "die…" Predictable.

On the other hand, it reminded Roy _why_ did he cross the rules and his own morale (yes, he did have one, although after the life he had had it ended rather curtailed) and broke into the freezing place the Unknowing called 'Fullmetal's apartment'. He had a self-assessed mission.

The roaming hand reached flesh and a pair of bare fingers drew a line along the sleeping child's jaw. It was a risk, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself from the touching the miraculous being. The scowl deepened.

"What ails you?" Roy whispered, staring at the boy. The soft lips parted slightly as though in surprise and he mumbled something unintelligible.

'Well, this is the end, Fullmetal. Sorry I didn't get to say goodbye.' The Colonel arose and cautiously paced to the opposite side of Edward's bed, keeping his eyes on the floor for good measure, despite knowing there was nothing in the room he might have been stepping on.

'The recent months were Hell, Fullmetal, but it's my personal belief that this state is drawing to a rapid close. I don't want you to be there. I'm taking the rest of my subordinates and I know you have fought hard to be allowed to go with us, rightfully claiming you have done more than perhaps either of us… but I don't want you to die. I can't lead a child to death in battle." He carefully pulled the blanket away. Despite the cold, Fullmetal was sleeping in only his boxers, which made Roy's job all that easier.

'I'm sorry, Chibi.' He really was. One by one, he loosened the screws. It wasn't a great enough difference to make the boy notice, but as soon as he made a major movement, he was going to virtually fall apart. Needless to say, it was going to hurt.

'It's to keep you alive. Alphonse still needs you, you know. You've got to get his body back. You couldn't do that if you were dead.' He proceeded to the leg, which was a lot more complicated procedure, as Fullmetal seemed to be tangled in the blankets and they were stuck in the joints. Not once was he strongly compelled to cinder the cloth and simplify his work, but somehow he didn't believe that the boy wouldn't notice the smell of burn. Or feel the heat.

He managed it, after a while. His fingers were quivering, but there was no other way to go about it. The child wouldn't listen to reasoning, would ignore orders and the loss of his arm wouldn't stop him from following. It had to be done thoroughly. Roy hated himself for inflicting more pain to the boy.

'Dekita, Fullmetal… Farewell, Edward.' The door to the bedroom Roy privately called 'the cell' clicked shut and he strode quickly – trying to appear official – out of the place. He hated it there. He hated the world. The state. Himself and what he did and his life…

But, it his own very special way, he loved the child.


	2. Sewers

First and foremost: thank you all for such kind responses! Please, keep the reviews coming; I shall strive to not lose your attention.  
Secondly, the HP part of the story is post HBP (roughly a year later). I do not own Harry Potter – just in the case it wasn't obvious from my previous disclaimer.  
Enjoy!  
Brynn

Chapter 1: Sewers

"We fucked it up, Potter," remarked a blonde boy sitting on a scarce pile of half-rotten, suspiciously red-coloured straw, leaning back against the wall. It wasn't the first time he had said that… Harry wouldn't usually lower to such language, but in this particular case he had to concede it might have been appropriate.

"We did. And, before you start-" he effectively stopped the flow sooner than it came, seeing as the other boy was breathing in, preparing to speak, "I'd say we are about equally guilty."

The blonde grinned.

"You said the same that time McGonagall caught us atop the Astronomy Tower after curfew."

Harry shrugged.

"It was true." Facing an irate Headmistress had been a nasty affair, but he was fond of that memory in general. It was something to hold onto after they had been dumped in this pit.

"Was not," objected Draco calmly and continued counting the stones the wall was made of. It was about as exciting activity as anything else he might have been doing there.

"Was too."

It had been a hard year, the longest one on Harry's life by far. At the same time it had been the most beautiful one. It started off as a cruel streak of unfavourable events, though: the Order allowing underage wizards to join; Ginny and Hermione being sent to Beauxbatons;

Draco Malfoy appearing in the middle of Grimmauld Place – where Harry had been _forced_ to stay – on one rainy August morning…

"D'you think we'll get to see the sky once more?" asked the blonde out of blue and startled Harry from his thoughts.

He shook his head in amazement – claiming the Astronomy Tower was more romantic than the Room of Requirement was one thing (even if it landed them in detention; luckily Draco had been able to think up a believable excuse in stride, otherwise they could have ended much worse), but wishing to see the sky…

Harry wished he could see his friends… but Draco didn't have any friends. Apart from him… Anyway, they both shared the loathing towards the idea of dying in the sewers… like rats…

Harry smirked.

"D'you want to?"

Draco scoffed, thinking that Harry was being ironic. One look at the Gryffindor's face was enough to ascertain him _he_ meant it earnestly. He tilted his head back, touching the cold rock and sighed.

"It's not like we can change anything about it."

Harry's smirk widened, though his eyes remained darker than Draco ever remembered.

"We'll break out."

Draco gagged.

"What for? The second we're out we face about thirty Death Eaters, and that only in the case there's no meeting taking place-"

"Well, we won't live through this either way. At least you get to see the sky…"

'…cause there's no chance I'll see Ron and Mione ever again.' Harry somewhat saddened at the thought, but didn't let it surface. Much more than that was needed to melt his resolve. What made him actually almost content with the prospect was the fact that the Prophecy admitted that after his death, anyone could take out Voldemort.

"Point," muttered Draco. He was obviously at the verge of tears, but closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Slowly, gradually, as he contemplated the idea, he opened his eyes again. They had lost the mist from a while ago, and something flashed in them that made Harry shiver.

The blonde pushed his long hair out of his face and – ever so gracefully – climbed to his feet. He took a step forwards, and stuck out his chin in his best commanding pose.

"Come here."

Harry hesitated, but eventually, squinting at the other boy, he smiled. Battered, dirty, sticky… just like himself. In one fluid, half-unexpected movement he closed the two-feet-wide space between them and met Draco's hands, Draco's body, Draco's mouth.

It was all familiar, but for once Harry let go of his restraints and poured all his emotions, his unfulfilled hopes, broken dreams and dead desires into what he was doing. There was no one going to judge him anymore. Bury him, if they were lucky. Eat, if they were not. Just for a while, they deserved to be let to live their lives to their fullest.

"One more time…" Draco mumbled into Harry's hair, with a restraining hand put on the Gryffindor's forehead. This was something he wanted to say before they were too out of breath to speak: "And then we'll see the sky."

o

Draco felt desperate and he expected their love-making to be just like that – desperate. However, after the first kiss that seemed as if they were both subjugated by the blind passion, Harry got a grip on himself and for a short while took control. He became tender – more tender than Draco ever remembered him, speaking wordlessly of all the things he had on his mind, about life, love and the two of them.

This time they had no reason to hurry. This time they didn't have to worry that someone would walk upon them, that someone would uncover the unprecedented relationship between the two hardly-of-age boys. They didn't have to care whether Mad-Eye or Kingsley would get wind and separate them, refusing to send them into the field together. _They_ had no idea – _no one_ had any idea – that the dream-team, the most efficient duo in the rows of the new generation of the Order of the Phoenix, were lovers.

Harry's fingers counted Draco's ribs under the remnants of the shirt, and the blonde's breath caught as he watched the rags being disposed of. They both knew the Gryffindor was taking his time purposely. He could easily discard all Draco's clothing, no matter how complicated the fastening mechanisms were, in about fifteen seconds. After the year of practice they had had in broom cupboards in Hogwarts, in their lockless bedrooms in Grimmauld place and atop the Astronomy Tower, there was no fumbling, no uncertainty, no shame.

It was chilly in the underground, but he was quickly heating up from inside. Harry was pulling off his pants, fighting all the obstacles with silent determination that was simply himself. Sometimes it seemed that he was made of it – a personification of determination. People saw him as so many different things – a hero, a warrior, a victim, an early orphaned child... Draco was sure he knew better. He knew that Harry once probably had been someone else... but now he _was_ determination.

He felt a hand sliding up the back side of his thigh, and despite his will arched into the slightly smaller body standing so near to him. Harry, just as slowly as he administered all of his care, laid him down on the straw and straddled him. The freezing was blocked out when Draco's brain seemingly short-circuited. A pair of brilliant green eyes entranced him; so much was mirrored in them, so many times they had darkened with lust, and the handsome face had been distorted by the feral want… Only he knew 'the Saviour' like that…

But now Harry's eyes were crystal-clear, and it was more than obvious that he actually wanted to remember every second, not just succumb to the pull and let his body take over.

The narrow gap between their bodies closed and Draco arched again. Harry leant down and kissed him, this time more deeply and thoroughly than before, and maybe a bit hastier.

Draco gasped for air and Harry didn't even close his mouth as he drew a wet line with his tongue; across the cheek, down the throat…

Draco was missing something quite severely, but with his current incapability of holding on to any thought for more than a split second he had virtually no chance to figure out what it was. His thumb caressed Harry's hip-bone; it was a bit more protruding than the last time they had slept together. This was how he would remember his lover – how he would remember him for the rest of their short lives and hopefully forever…

"You know… there was time when I hated you…"

Harry straightened, putting a frustrating distance between them, but a fleeting touch of his fingertips on Draco's chest provided the answer to what was missing. Such had been Draco's perception of the lack of caress administered, while Harry had worked on doing away with his own clothes.

Those words hung in the silence for a while, during which a pair of vibrant green eyes clashed grey ones. Then Harry tilted his head to the side, narrowed his eyes, cast a wandless Silencing charm and switched their positions faster than Draco could grasp what was going on.

He wanted finish that thought, to say that he didn't hate Harry anymore, that he probably even loved him… instead, he got the opportunity to prove it.

o

Harry knew for a fact that the shirt he was wearing had once belonged to Draco, but he couldn't quite remember which one of them had it on before they stripped. It didn't matter too much after all, the only 'authoriy' that might see them in the next few minues was Severus Snape, and Harry personally wished that the man would be haunted by the memory of what was going to happen to the two of them for long years yet. Maybe he would even pass a chance on killing the man if he got one…

'Showtime-' he thought and stood facing the wall that (according to his orientation sense, which was nowhere near as pitiful as everybody supposed – sometimes it was useful to 'get lost') separated them from the staircase. Draco joined him, for once resisting the urge to fight his jitters by prattling on about what they were going to do, or simply still under the influence of his spell… they joined hands.

It eased the chanelling a lot, helping Harry control the magic of both of them. He was more skilled with using it; letting Draco play now would be a loss of precious energy. The blonde, of course, knew it, and was content with the arrangments - he looked around uncertainly, then took a deep breath and gave Harry a rather chaste kiss that felt painfully like a goodbye. The stones started crumbling…

o

Coming up in next chapter: Edward wakes up! Harry and Draco proceed, but Harry's master-plan fails!


	3. Death

Thanks for reviews! Keep them coming, they make me a happy author! Aaand…  
…enjoy.  
Brynn

Chapter 2: Death

"Who are you to claim to know me?" The voice echoed from the bare walls. It actually shouldn't have, not in a room like this, but somehow there was nothing it would have clashed with. Edward Elric rapidly sat up on his bed, jerking from the nightmare, and screamed.

o

He tried to move and hardly restrained himself from screaming again. Bracing himself and turning his head he examined his shoulder.

'What the fuck?' Pieces of automail stuck out of the dismantled base. The rest of the arm lay in components all around. He was crippled, unable of any movement and hurting… hurting worse than he was ever since Winry and Auntie Pinako attached the bases.

'Who would do something like that?' He could think of no one. But something like this never happened to him and, frankly, something like that simply couldn't happen to Winry's work, not without a radical interference of outside force. The arm was completely alright yesterday… Tears pressed in Edward's eyes but he blinked them away.

'Seems that after all I won't accompany you after all, Colonel Bastard… hope you are happy.'

o

Harry had always done everything differently. Knowing that they were going to die, they should have attacked head on, not…

Draco's musings were cut off. He halted, keeping the wand he had nicked from the dead guard paralel to his thigh. There was a laughably quiet crack in the air.

The wizards around them stopped in the middle of their movement and for a second that could have stretched out for ages there was absolute stillness. Then the wind blew and Draco's eyes widened-

o

It's been days… Edward tried to spend as much time as he could asleep, but it didn't work too well – his body was used to little sleep.

He was hungry and thirsty and physically sick, but all those sensations were subtle compared to the continuous burning pain. He was going to die and he knew it. It was a strangely empty emotion; he lacked even the will to fight. He had no idea what had happened to him, or what had happened outside that nobody came looking for him… but his colleagues were gone on mission and Al… who knew what happened to Al… Edward certainly wanted to hope his brother was alright, but his mind was far too rational to allow him to believe such a folly.

So he stared at the ceiling as another long painful day ended in a red-coloured twilight and selfishly hoped it had been the last one.

o

"Potter! Harry…" Draco got no response… he had not exactly expected one. "Harry…" There was a lot of blood around the scarcely-clad body. He might have well been dead. "Harry!" Draco was becoming desperate. He knew he had to stir at least some kind of response from the other boy, lest he was going to curl up in an imitation of _his_ position and not move from the place until…

"Har-ry-" he repeated brokenly, shaking the cold white shoulder.

The body stubbornly refused to speak up. Draco's eyes filled with tears, but he was laughing. He was being strong, strong for both of them, wherever this place was, whatever had happened, and however Voldemort had survived that… terryfying thing Harry did.

"Har-ry-" Draco whispered with a smile and lowered his head to rest on his lover's hand forever…

Harry coughed. It was a reflex of an unconscious organism, spitting out the blood that was making breathing impossible, but it was more than enough to motivate Draco. He shakily stood up, conjured a strecher under the other boy and levitated him.

"Just hold on, love, I'll fix you… you'll see… I'll- you just… need… help… fix… sleep… bed…"

He looked around. Never before he had seen a place like this – they must have been in some exotic country… neertheless, it was still a town, and a town was bound to be inhabited by people. He aimed to the nice big house across the juncture. There was a sign, but he couldn't focus his eyes enough to read it.

"Hold on, I promise it'll be alright – if not than you can.., you can wander off with that Weasley beast. Really. I won't try and stop you. Just take me back to London with you; I'll learn to take care of myself… really… really…"

o

Edward fortunately didn't have enough energy left to move, because he would have jerked at the crash. His only remotely-functional mind suggested that the roof had caved in… which was a total nonsense, because he was still staring at the ceiling… so he tried to concentrate…

o

Draco calmed down a bit after he realised that the reason _why_ they were in this strange place was that in the middle of the vortex of raw magic Harry had Apparated them… _He_, naturally, couldn't quite control it, otherwise they would have been sitting in the Grimmauld Place right now…

Sneaking a glance at his lover's battered body he felt absolutely no qualms about blasting the front door to the nice house.

"Hang on, Potter. Look, I know just how much you hate Muggles, but even I admit you really need _any_ help this time… look, once we're out of here we can pretend it never happened. How about that? Now, let's find where they have bandages…"

o

Edward's eyes fluttered open and he bit his lip to suppress the cry of pain that was close to escaping him. Someone was there. In his apartment. It wasn't Al. It wasn't Winry either.

That meant it was some stranger… more strangers… though they didn't seem to intend harm… rather sounded desperate…

He definitely _couldn't_ defend himself if the strangers had any violent intentions.

o

"Now, let's find where they have bandages…" Draco was a hair-thin close to panicking – no, scratch that, Draco _was_ panicking. Wherever they were, it wasn't where they were supposed to be. He didn't know that much about the Muggle cities, but the differences here were so striking that even a pureblooded stuck up brat like he couldn't miss them. Potter would be proud.

If he wasn't unconscious and on the brink of death… He dislodged the limp body off the stretcher on the bare – and damn too cold – floor.

'Can't they even afford a carpet!' He didn't pay a thought to his blood-stained robe and went searching for the accursed bandages and some bed. There was bound to be one, Potter really did need it and Draco wouldn't hesitate before throwing _anybody_ out of it.

He stepped into a small square room. There indeed seemed to be a bed… and something smelled rather nasty…

'I can't have such luck? The owner of this place was found by me, dead. Wicked,' Draco thought dryly. His sarcasm was dying, too.

"_Lumos_." He approached the bed. It was riled up. The floor around it was littered with oddly shaped pieces of metal, which didn't seem like anything he knew. A few strands of golden hair were splayed on the pillow. Judging from the shape of blankets, they covered a rather small frame.

'A child?' Draco asked inwardly and stepped closer. After what he had seen out there, no matter what he might find here it would not be able to touch him. And disposing of a corpse was easier than disposing of a living and objecting person. He pulled the linen away and gasped.

A pair of great, golden, pain-glazed eyes was staring at him.


	4. Rebirth and Recollections

Chapter 3: Rebirth and Recollections

"Who are you?" It was an instinctive question and Draco instantly reprimanded himself. He was the intruder in _that person's_ place, he had broken in and it was definitely not his line. But the sheer shock of what he was seeing rendered him dumb.

A person – he wasn't able to specify it more – was laying curled between the sheets, right knee and left arm spasmodically clutched close to chest, while the remaining limbs… simply weren't there. Instead wires and chunks of metal stuck out from (probably) _his_ shoulder and from under the rim of rather stained light-blue piece of clothing, which somehow didn't manage to add to the decency of that person. He realised he wasn't right. There was no way he could chuck this… this… thing out of the bed. It looked at him pleadingly, as though it needed help…

"Well, of course it needs help, you moron! Look at _it_!"

He gulped and hesitated.

"No, I c-can't k-kill it-" he took a ragged breath. The _child_, as he decided to call it in his head, whined pleadingly, obviously unable to speak coherently. He wanted to end _its_ despair – because _it_ obviously was suffering – but _it_ wanted to live… Having seen all the effects of the war, having been imprisoned and left to rot in the sewers, having witnessed Potter's _death_, he wasn't about to kill _anything_ that wanted to live…

"_Dormiens_," he whispered. There were other ways of nursing Potter than to dispose of the _child_. Must have been. He scratched his head and uncertainly looked around… But Potter needed him more acutely now… this person could hold on a few more hours under the magic-induced sleep.

There were other rooms in the house; one of them was actually habitable. He guessed it to be the real bedroom; it made him wonder why the _child_ wasn't in there – maybe _it_ wasn't the owner of the house. Maybe it was detained there… or…

Draco shook his head – it was too difficult for him to figure out right now and he had no time to ponder it. There was a bleeding boy laying on the floor in the hall. A boy that simply _had_ to live for Draco to be able to go on…

o

He found the kitchen. It was nice and cozy, funished by someone who liked homely atmosphere. _Not_ the _kid_ back there. He opened all the cabinets. One of them was cold and shiny inside, and filled with food. It stunk.

Then he found the bathroom and a small box fastened on the wall, filled with a lot of tubes and bottles and small paper boxes. There was a lot of long nonsense words written on them and he decided to not try and use them, because the unknown stuff might have been capable of easily killing Potter… who knew? The most important was that there was a lot and lot of bandages. He could have dressed a mummy with them.

"Gee… I could do the passing tests for Healers now… thanks to your great idea," he said, entering the bedroom where he had left Potter. "Where did Dumbles's great light Saviour learn magic like that? No, don't answer that; I don't want to know what all the half-breeds taught you. Anyways-" he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the rest of the burnt rotten rags from Potter's body, one by one, "I suppose that they deserved it. I just think you should have warned me. You know… childhood with my father wasn't all jolly, he even once let me watch disemboweling a woman. She lived quite a long while into it… But I haven't seen stuff like this before. I mean… peeling off skin of people is alright, but the next time you really should stop there. I didn't have to watch muscles and veins dropping off one by one-" he paused for a while to look over the skinny body, criss-crossed with wounds caused by not-so-well-dodged curses, "How can somebody be that fast? You should have been dead hundred times over. Not that I'm not happy that you are not. But I know what this stuff is going to do to your system nervous – after all, you've let me see how it looks without the rest of the body. Apart from skeletons, but I suppose it helped to leave the skeleton for so long. Lestrange was curled in such a strange position that without the bones I wouldn't understand which fibre belongs to which part of the body- hey, it's finally about the time you woke up. If you let me do the healing itself I'll fuck it up, you'll see… Hey, Potter… Potter… Harry!"

o

"Hey, Potter… Potter… Harry!"

He opened his eyes. Various parts of his body provided him with various sensations of which none was comfortable. His mind came to a logical conclusion – he was still alive.

"Oh… shit."

There was dusk. He was laying in bed, which in itself was somewhat confusing. He remembered sending a crowd of Death Eaters to Hell and… rather blurrily the sight of Voldemort getting out of the vortex in the last instant, the son of a bitch.

Bethinking it once more, maybe the fact that he was still alive wasn't as negative. He didn't manage to complete his task yet. Well, in that case it would be a good idea to get himself in shape again.

"Harry-"

'Draco. So he's fine. Good.' He felt a rather cold hand on his cheek – a touch of chaotic energy. His lover had always contained a large dose of darkness, as well as a lot of concealed light underneath, but they were always carefully separated, with a very thin bordering gray layer. Now _his_ magic was totally messed-up.

"Gee, Potter, you gave me a scare. Don't you dare ever repeat it. I thought you were dead back there in the street, haven't you coughed I would have let you bleed out on the pavement. Anyway, we're here in a really creepy house – there's a kid there in the second room and it doesn't have leg and arm and there is a lot of metal all around it. I thought it was dead, too, but it seemed like-" Harry raised an eyebrow, ignoring the swell the expression violated, and stared at the blonde as _he_ droned on. Draco always liked to talk, but he never stretched it to such point. A shadow of dread befell him – what if _his_ magic wasn't the _only_ messed-up thing about Draco?

"Ere'h 'lhgnohk?" he tried to ask and paled. There was something very, very wrong… He tried to reach up, but his right hand was apparently broken. So he reached up with the left and stuck three fingers in his mouth. It was empty.

o

Harry gulped – it was a bit harder to do without the tongue. How the Hell did that happen to him? He had no idea… Well, he had _some_ idea, but which Death Eater in their right mind would cast a highly specific curse such as tongue-ripping in the head of the battle? Because he would have known if he had swallowed a ripping or a cutting hex… Then again, which _Death Eater_ was in their right mind?

Of course, there were no regular Death Eaters left. He made sure that the Pit sucked in everyone branded by the Dark Mark. He considered leaving Snape out, but he didn't have enough magic to accomplish that, even after stealing the life energy of everyone who attended the meeting (safe for the snake bastard Tom, but he hadn't really hoped to best that one).

On the other hand, he still felt charged _now_, hours after he had opened the Pit and let the dark wizards and witches virtually melt in front of them. Although he had been knocked out before he could see what really happened, probably exactly by the tongue-ripping curse…

"-just disappeared. But I didn't watch him cause Lestrange and Mother and Lucius were much more interesting. Did you know that it doesn't happen like in the movies Granger stocks in her room, when the hair remains till the end? Cause the hair was first to disappear and honestly, can you picture my Father bald? It was a laugh-"

'Draco, where are we?' he asked Legilimentically.

"Dunno, it's a town. The streets and houses and the _travelling things_ are weird here. I saw some before. And the lights are strange, too. It's not England, but I dunno… I've been in a lots of places with my father… I'd say it's Liechtenstein, but… Hey, ask the kid, he would know. If he isn't dead yet. I put a sleeping charm on him, but he was as good as dead before-"

Harry closed his eyes and shut Draco's voice out of his mind. There was a child that needed help, probably immediately, and his lover obviously wasn't able to tend to it. So it was, once again, up to him. That meant he had to heal the wounds quickly. Now.

'Gimme your hand.'

Draco wouldn't need his magic in the immediate future. He, on the other hand, would. So it was the best to use the Slytherin as a battery right now.

o

"Aye, Potter. But don't you get used to ordering me around."

Draco just had to say it, even though it was an absolute bulldust. Of course he let Harry order him around. Ever since he had been given asylum in the old Black House, he accepted his position as Harry's subordinate. It was a way to survive… then a way to get close… and in the end a way to become the ultimate Warriors of Light team. There wasn't a thing he could refuse Harry anyway.

As soon as his palm touched Harry's chest, he felt his magic being drawn out of him. He grinned. The Gryffindor began to glow a dim grey light; it gradually intensified and tiny little blue and pink pinpricks danced around the edges of his wounds. Draco was left to guess which exotic nation or mysterious tribe or society of half-breeds used such healing magic. Though it sure worked.

Draco was drained and released, and Harry slowly stood up, catching on the wall when his head spun. Of course – he hadn't eaten in… ever since they had been put into the dungeon. A long, long time ago. Draco smiled.

"I'll go and make something to eat. They've got loads of food here, but most of it is old. You could get food poisoning. So I'll be careful; don't worry. I know I can't cook but I promise I'll do my best-"

'All right, Draco. Thank you,' replied Harry in his soundless way and walked out the door. Draco cocked his head to the side and wondered if maybe his love was sad. But then he decided that it was only the empty stomach that ailed _him_.


	5. Give me your hand

Ladies and Gentlemen, your reviews are the crucial motivation… Thus please, in the case you do enjoy this story and it is your wish that I continue it, send me one. Thank you for your attention.  
Brynn

Chapter 4: Give me your hand

Harry carefully walked up the narrow corridor. The room with the _child_, as Draco called the only inhabitant of the house, was easy to find. While all other doors were thrown open, the one he was looking for remained shut.

He bit his lip, trying to suppress the wave of despair that threatened to overflow him. There was no one in this strange place he could count on. The first emotion he felt when he learnt that Draco was still alive had been relief, but right now he started to realise that maybe if he had died it would have been easier. Dealing with Voldemort was going to be hard, bordering on suicidal, even without his lackeys there to support him… but dealing with Voldemort when he had to take care of an insane companion was impossible.

He would have to abandon him… and that was worse than if either of them had died.

He pressed the handle and entered the room.

At the first sight the only difference between it and the sewers was the presence of a metal, hospital bed. He gulped and stepped in… No wonder Draco had subconsciously closed the door. The stink inside was nauseating.

Nevertheless, he ignored the consant protests of his over-strained stomach and approached the bed. The shape lying in it was utterly pitiful… By the state of the body and the cloth he would have guessed it was there for about a week – almost since _they_ had been thrown into _their_ confinement.

'Yeah, he _is_ a Muggle… but something's different about him. Something's not right.'

He gently showed the stream of golden hair out of the face of the sleeping person. It didn't seem all that child-like to him… there was something about it… he just couldn't put his finger on _what_ it was. He didn't think the address was at all appropriate. However, he couldn't be sure until they spoke to this person…

Following his half-suppressed Muggle insincts he searched for a switch. He found it – logically – next to the door. Sharp, electric light filled the room and he blinked a few times to adjust to it. It had been a long time since he was in a building where electricity was used – about a year. Funny, how he had almost forgotten…

'_Scourgify_.'

The mess around the person vanished, leaving only the pile of metal pieces. Harry himself had never seen anything like it, which lead him to another suspicion – this was not a _Muggle_ colony. Wherever the uncontrolled Apparition had landed them, it was not within the reach of Brittish Ministry of Magic. They were safe from the Aurors…

…but so was Voldemort.

'_Evanesco_.'

The missing cover revealed the image he had already fleetly glimpsed in Draco's head. The boy – there was no doubt it was a boy now – lay half-curled, with two remaining limbs pulled close to his body. According to a series of quick check-up spells the boy was neither injured nor ill; his current state was due to the strange spasm that prevented him from moving and consequent dehydratation and starvation. He could deal with that. Even without a wand, but not too responsibly…

'Wait for a while longer, whoever you are… I'll be back.'

He wasn't sure whether his thought reached the sleeping mind, but if it did, he hoped it brought relief. The crease in the pale forehead slightly smoothed.

o

Draco was perfectly baffled. He understood none of the appliances in the kitchen, nor did he know most of the food I there. He could tell some of it was bad, because it stank incredibly foul. With some he wasn't sure… But in the cool box there was a bottle of milk that seemed pretty normal, and the fruit on the windowsill looked a bit like wrinkled apples… not that there _ever_ were any wrinkled apples in the Malfoy Manor, but he got used to them going on missions with Potter. The irritating boy would never use charms to keep food fresh; he would claim that it was a purposeless waste of energy, or that using magic would get them noticed or… whatever. The point was, this was how wrinkled apples were supposed to look like.

Then Potter stood in the doorway, looked around, and set out about the kitchen, closing all the doors of the cases. He stopped by the second last and brought out a paper bag.

He glanced over Draco's shoulder and with a disinterested wave of his hand something slammed and there was light.

o

Harry shut the last case and turned on the light. He filled a jar with water, poured a glass-ful of sugar into it, and sat on the chair next to the oven, stirring the liquid with a spoon he had found – predictably – in the uppest drawer. He was aware of Draco's unwavering gaze all the time, but he was still in the process of gathering courage to look into his lover's eyes.

'Draco, bring me the wands.'

There must have been some left from those they had gathered. One, at least… although two would be preferrable. He wasn't sure about leaving such a weapon free for Draco to use; he would need a few days of observation to ascertain how much damage was done to the boy's mind – to estimate whether he presented a danger, or was rather harmless…

The blonde blinked and went to the door. He was almost out of the room when leant back in and with a sincere expression said:

"This is how wrinkled apples are supposed to look like."

And he was gone. Harry waited still… and when the front door slammed, silent tears ran down his face.

o

"I'm sure… they've gotta be here somewhere. He was lying a bit further down the road – yeah, here. Because we landed here, so he remained lying here. I thought he was dead, so I was lying there too, so that is probably where I had lost the wands, yes, that must be it." Draco bent down and picked up a wooden stick that seemed familiar.

"Yee… this one was mother's! So it was her who tried to slit Harry's throat! I knew she looked familiar… pity I had only stunned her… or no… though I suppose she didn't enjoy the melting too much. It looked like she wasn't happy about that. Anyway, mother's wand is good, cause it's lot like mine had been and it will work well with my magic… It already did when I levitated Harry…"

A cat with curious amethyst eyes walked past him, giving him a blatant gape.

"Hey, what's a kitty like you doing out at this time? You should be sleeping… ah, _Dormiens_."

The body fell on the road and Draco lowered the wand. Then he looked around and scratched his chin with its top. It let out a few sparkles that tickled. He laughed.

"So-o… Yeah, there it was, not here. Yes, there's still the pool of blood… gee… that's nasty. We're a civilised society! This is a town! You should do some cleaning here!"

Nevertheless, he managed to collect two more stolen wands before he guessed that it was all they had managed to Apparate with themselves.

"… but I must have lost it along the way. Still, I can do a lot of magic without wand now, so I didn't need it to bring him upstairs. I didn't need it to make the kid sleep, just as I made the kitty sleep… I can make a lots of things sleep…"

o

Edward woke up without the obligatory jerk – he became used to not moving during the time he had spent in the bed. Somehow it was a bit easier on him to do so when he knew – well, not certainly, but at least he had a hope – that he wasn't going to die.

His eyes widened instantly – there was light in the bedroom even though it was still dark outside. The beautiful yellow light fell on a scary apparition that _must _have been provided by his delirious mind.

There, above his bed, stood a naked man. He seemed to have been injured recently yet his wounds were already healing. Despite them, despie the pain he must have felt, he leant over and, pushing stubborn dark locks out of his eyes, stretched out a hand with a glass.

Edward closed his eyes and in the last instant convinced himself not to sigh. Even sighing hurt. Like… hurt worse than just being conscious. He wondered if the dressed blonde he had seen before and the promise of help had also been merely his imagination.

He opened his eyes again, but the vision hadn't disappeared. It hadn't even changed. The man put the glass away and with an expression of concern put a hand on Ed's face.

Ed wanted to struggle, afraid he was going to be choked to death, but he was still paralysed…

Suddenly the pain disappeared and the man removed his hand. He smiled. Sadly.

And Edward knew he was dead, and the man was an angel that had come to take him to the trial. He had beautiful haunting green eyes that contained infinity…


	6. Presumption

A/N: Wow. I got a review.  
Great big thanks to Kara! Enjoy this chapter: more Fullmetalness especially for you.

Chapter 5: Presumption

Al looked down at his hands.

'Strange,' he thought. The same hands as they were ever before, just… darker. Or it could have been an odd shadow, or… or a…

He had no idea. It was too dark in the room to identify the reason. Then he slowly started remembering. Last night… He didn't sleep. He never _really _slept, sure, but he could meditate – Auntie Pinako taught him that when he had started acting weird. He still had a human mind and a human mind needed rest to not get crazy.

But last night Al had _not _been meditating… and so he noticed the person that came inside. That person was a bad one, he knew it on the first sight. They were tall and evil and wore a long, long black cape that brushed the ground, wih a hood that obscured their face. They were alone.

Al had risen from the corner of the living room where he usually meditated when he heard some muttering in front of the door – he thought that somebody from Risenbool had gotten lost. It sometimes happened, mostly when the men went home from the inn…

But then there had been a flash of blue light and the lock had clicked and the door had slipped open… and Al had known this person were an Alchemist. At first he had supposed that it was Ed and didn't want to wake them up in the middle of the night, but then… then he had seen that the person were _tall_…

And anyway, his brother was resting because he had to get well quickly. Al failed to persuade Ed to listen to Colonel Mustang and _not_ go into the battle…

Al never understood why, but he supposed it had something to do with those things Ed never spoke about. There was a lot of them. His depressions. The frustration he was trying to hide from Al whenever they came back home without the Philosopher's Stone. His nightmares. The way he felt about Colonel Mustang… Al was _almost_ sure Ed in truth _didn't_ hate the Colonel…

There was a muffled scream somewhere and Al's head snapped up. A stripe of moonlight was coming inside through the window. He looked out – there was something strange. The moon – that was…

'How long did I sleep?'

Trying to suppress the panic the way he had learnt it from observing Ed, he franatically tried to remember what had happened before he fell asleep…

That person, the one in the black cape… they had stepped in and Al had asked them who they were and… they had given him a long scrutiny and said… "Interesting."

And Al had known the person was a bad one and told them to leave or he would hurt them, but they had only laughed; it was a terrifying sound that echoed inside his armor. Before he could do anything, before he could even move, the person had brought out a thin wooden stick and aimed it at him and said… a word… something about… imperfect? No… imperator- imperial… something like that; Al probably hadn't even heard the end of the word. And then everything had went fluffy and pink and he didn't remember any more…

The door creaked open and a girl went inside… Helen. From the village. But she looked different. She wore a black dress… no, more like… black habit? She had a scary empty look in hed eyes, and it chilled Al.

"_Lumos Maxima_," said a creepy voice that Al recognised as belonging to that bad person. It made him shiver… The room lit up. Not like when you turn the light on, because there was no lightbulb, it just… did. Without any source, although he thought that the very first, original glow might have come from the door…

Then his eyes adjusted and Al screamed.

o

"Colonel."

Roy looked up from his plate and grimaced. Riza rolled her eyes. They all were eating the same food so she had quite a good idea what he was referring to, but, as a proper soldier, she didn't complain. Riza never complained, and, to tell the truth, sometimes it really aggravated Roy. She _should _be complaining! The so called 'food' was mud with some things swimming in it that were too hard to chew.

He spit it out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Nani?" he grumbled. Riza sighed. She was being overly dramatic.

"I addressed you five times in the last minute. You were-"

"Thinking," Roy interposed and scowled at her. So he was a million miles away. And what? He had a lot to think about. Certain brothers, for example. And when he finally managed to convince himself that they were independent, and that he didn't have to worry about them, he still had a battle in front of himself. A battle that he hoped was going to end the war… trouble was the word 'end'. Not 'win'. Who knows what Amestris would turn into in the matter of mere weeks? Who was going to rule? And how were they going to treat the former enemy?

There were no answers to these questions, and, predictably, they brought him back to the previous subject – how were the Elrics going to fare in the new regime? Would Edward be prosecuted, or stood on a pedestal as the national hero, or would they leave him alone, realising that he was just a child?

Roy was thinking in circles, and it brought him nowhere. He wondered whether he would be spending his time better just watching the wind move the sand around. Or observing the life within the camp… which was virtually nonexistent right now.

"Yes, sir," Riza replied almost indifferently. No complaining. Damn the woman.

"So, sir, how _did_ you manage to convince Edward to not come with us?"

'I did not. I am not a kami, and, honestly, no human can convince that _boy_ of _anything_ without using violence.'

"That is classified information," he drawled, gave his plate a first-class glare and snapped. A second later he had a barrel aimed at his temple. But the large scorch mark on the table was due to the unpredictable wind, which was _not_ his fault… was it?

"Colonel-" Riza started with her _totally not threatening_ voice. She grated on Roy's nerves. She was much too used to the way things were working in the office. But this was _not_ the office. This was a camp. Where his _subordinates_ were watching them.

He stood up.

"Put your weapon down, First Lieutenant, or you face court martial."

Riza's jaw dropped and for a while she froze. Then she – belatedly – remembered _who_ they were, and _where_ they were, and that Roy wasn't going to be benevolent here. And sure as Hell he wasn't going to be _intimidated_ by his subordinate.

Her hands fell down and she stared at her boots.

"Sorry, sir…" she whispered.

"What was that, First Lieutenant? I didn't hear you," he said loudly, despite that everybody in the sight was already paying attention to them. Riza paled, but she held herself. She had a spine and Roy knew it, she just had to remember her place.

"Sorry, sir!" she said just as loud as he had spoken and Roy nodded his acceptance of the apology.

"Dismissed."

Riza gulped and saluted. Her hand was quivering.

Roy nodded again and watched her leave; she walked stiffly yet fast, in the direction to her tent. He sat down. She needed to cry it all out; she would be just fine tomorrow, maybe a tad more determined. He knew her.

"Sir?"

He looked up again. Fury, of all people, was standing on the spot Riza had recently abandoned, and saluted. The boy was the personofication of courtesy. He would never get too far, because he was shy and kind and polite, but Roy had a special place in his heart for him. Well, truth to be told, he had a special place for every of his direct subordinates… but sometimes he had the feeling that Fury's calm quiet approach together with his talent and will to solve the problems between them was what kept the 'family' running.

"Yes, Sergeant Major?"

"We are only worried that Major Elric will suddenly turn up when we expect him the least. We didn't want you to disclose classified information. We are sorry."

Roy couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. He hoped nobody noticed.

"There is no reason to apologise, Fury. There won't be any consequences for Hawkeye. She was disrespectful and put to her place."

The boy visibly relaxed; even so that he ceased the salute and only remained in attention.

"Sir."

"Don't worry, Fury. Fullmetal isn't going to turn up."

"Thank you, sir." The boy saluted again and Roy dismissed him.

He rested his elbow against the table and his chin against his palm, and stared into the distance, watching the wind move the sand.

'I'm sorry, Edward. I'm really really sorry. But Miss Rockbell will patch you up… And I'm afraid that not even the best Automail mechanic would be able to help most of _us_…

Maybe I should go and see Riza and talk to her where there are not _subordinates_ listening. Screw policy… we're going to _die_.'

o

Al stared down at his hands. They were dark red; red with dried blood.

Further down, somewhere below his hands there was a broken body of a girl… the source of all the blood. Her face was mercifully turned down, but the long blonde hair and the wrench clutched spasmodically in her hand were enough to identify her.

Al knew that this wasn't a nightmare because he didn't dream. Slowly, he looked up at the person standing in front of him, while Helen knelt somewhere in the background. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

The person put down their hood and it made even less sense. They weren't human. The first thing that crossed his mind was Homunculus, but… Homunculi looked like humans. This person didn't; they looked like a snake with a man's skeleton. They had red eyes.

"Mossst interesssting way of achieving immortality… though unsssatisssfactory for me…" they hissed. Al stared. They pulled out the wooden stick again, aimed it at him and smiled. It would be scary, but Al didn't feel anything anymore.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

o

A/N: My understanding of A.K. is that it _severs_ the soul from the body, so it would work on Al, too, because he's basically a soul attached to a 'different body'. Your opinion is welcome.


	7. Angels, Demons, Humans

Please, send me a review… I really really want to know what you are thinking. Do you like it? Do you hate it?

Chapter 6: Angels, Demons, Humans

"Who are you?" Edward asked after drinking the water. It was sweet and the taste lingered… He had never imagined that death could be sweet. That there suddenly would be no pain… that there would be someone to meet him on the _other side_. Strangely, he felt no regret.

The man sitting on the side on his bed shook his head. It didn't surprise Edward at all – he hadn't quite bethought what he was asking, and now that he finally got to that part, it seemed natural that an angel wouldn't introduce himself… or herself, but this angel was an obvious 'him'. Funny, how he had always pictured angels dressed. Although this man, with his wild appearance, messy dark hair, slightly-insane emerald eyes and an assortment of hideous scars would look positively ridiculous in a long flowing white dress.

"It's alright. I understand. Do… do you know what happened to my brother?"

Another shake of the head. The angel had a strange mark the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. Edward hadn't noticed before, because it was covered by the messy hair.

"Well… are we going?" he said uncertainly. He had no idea what to do now – would he just be left to live here in the shadowy afterlife? Was there Heaven? Was there Hell?

Was there Purgatory? Because he felt like that would be the proper place for him… if the last week wasn't enough of a Purgatory. But whatever was waiting for him, he was sure he wouldn't have to face it in this state. He had seen Wrath's death – the kid's spirit's incorporation was whole. There were no missing limbs, no signs of the crushed backbone, no missing ripped flesh… He had always imagined that if there _was_ an afterlife for him, he was going to face it as a _complete_ human…

The black-haired being closed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. Edwards eyes widened.

"What? Why- I don't know what- Tell me what am I supposed to do."

The man opened those dazzling green eyes and seemingly pierced Edward with his gaze. Then he nodded, stood up, and limped to the door.

"Wait! Don't leave me alone… I've been… alone… so long."

The angel raised his hand, palm turned to Edward. He had no idea what it meant, but even with the pain gone, he couldn't move, so there was no way for him to stop the being from leaving.

o

'Draco! Get here! I need you-ur help…'

"Harry? Haree! I can make a lot of things sleeeep…"

Harry bit his lip. He didn't even attempt to force a smile. He knew he couldn't do it.

He braced himself and focused on the most pressing matter – he needed to speak to the boy. Trouble was that, since _he_ was a Muggle, Harry couldn't use Legilimency. Therefore he needed Draco as a medium. Which could turn out to be playing with fire, because he wasn't sure whether he could control the blonde…

"Do you want me to make something sl-"

'No. Come with me. I need you to talk to the boy, but be careful; he mustn't know that we are wizards. Do you think you can do it?'

Draco smiled dazzlingly and it clenched Harry's heart.

"I will do it, Harry. Everything that you want me to do. I will take care of you…"

'I know, love. Come.'

Harry blinked several times to stop his eyes from burning and clasped Draco's hand, inconspicuously lightening him of two wands. Draco _didn't notice_; he leant forwards and kissed Harry with passion that totally defied the overal childish behaviour. The kiss was unbelievably empty and completely one-sided and for a while Draco stiffened, shocked and trying to make out what was wrong, why was Harry so… so _uninvolved_. But there wasn't much to change about that now. Maybe if Poppy was there… but Poppy wasn't there and he had a bad feeling that he wasn't going to see the matron again.

Startled speechless, Draco pulled back and looked at him with those wondering grey eyes. They were large, like a child's eyes; quite different from the slits the blond used to be scrutinising him through. But all the darkness from them disappeared. They _shone_.

Draco's forehead creased, but he seemed to have made up his mind, leant forward, and gave Harry a chaste kiss on his lips. This time Harry forced the smile.

'Come.'

o

Once again alone in the room, Edward hugged himself with his left hand. When the tips of his fingers touched the remains of his automail, sharp pain shot through his body and he gasped, biting his lip.

'Why do I feel pain in death? It was not supposed to be like that, it-

Unless…'

Much sooner than he anticipated him to, the naked angel returned… with the clothed blonde from before virtually hanging on his arm and totally disregarding the strain it was putting on the wounds… a few of them ripped open, letting small rivulets of blood escape and run down the gaunt body. A few years ago it would have made him sick. Now, he just felt a weird sympathy.

"Um… hi," said the blonde, tilting his head to the side and sat down on the edge of Edward's bed. The dark-haired man stood behind his back and put a hand on his upper arm, as though preventing him from trying and touching the broken boy.

Edward was grateful.

"I… am not dead, am I."

The green-eyed one shook his head and smiled sadly.

Ed sighed.

"Damn. Can't say I haven't been looking forward to it…"

"Shut up, Potter, I could think of that one myself. Look, what do you mean I'm talking too much? But that doesn't mean I cannot think while talking, though… could you get one of those apples for me? Pity. Could use one, anyway-" the blonde turned to Ed, who had the feeling that he was missing something crucial here, "sorry we barged in like that. We're kinda in need, he… Potter was dying outside on the pavement and I thought that whoever lived here it would be better than just let that idiot bleed in the street… so I blasted your lock, but I guess I'll be able to repair it, and if not me than Potter will be cause Potter can do pretty much everything, bloody omnipotent saviour- Ouch!"

The dark-haired man – Potter – squeezed the blonde's arm. It couldn't have been really painful, but it served to stop the rain of words that somehow failed to be absorbed by Ed's brain. He couldn't see any sense in the monologue… just that they broke into the house because one of them needed help.

To tell the truth… it was alright with him. Even though, hadn't they come in, he would have been mercifully dead by now and… Al would be alone.

"Thanks," he said quietly, looking at the palm of his left hand. It was criss-crossed with scars – for a moment of irrationality he realised that his life-line was cut through on several spots.

"You're welcome, says Potter," replied the blonde, "and he thanks you too."

'Yeah, I suppose that in a way we saved each other… Equivalent Exchange… I wish Al was here. He-' Ed's eyes widened with realisation.

"What's the day today?"

"We have no idea, mate. We've been in the sewers like… a week, maybe. And before a few days in the Highs, and before… where have we been before? Oh, sure. Talkin' to Nessie, but she's a bitch. You won't get me to try and catch that monster again, cause I sure as Hell ain't going. We've been out of London like month or so-"

"London?" Edward gasped. These people were… from beyond the Gate! And they somehow came through… or was it him who came through?

No, it was them – the room they were in was his own; he knew it too well to mistaken it. There was the too familiar crack in the ceiling he had been staring at for hours, trying to fall asleep…

"Yeah, London, like the capital of UK. Like-"

"How did you open the Gate? Have you closed it? Or is it still open? We've got to…"

The blonde looked baffled. Potter bit his lip in what seemed to be a sign of him thinking.

"What is 'the Gate'? For-" he was stopped from rambling by another squeeze of his arm. Ed lay back; he felt drained and – paradoxically – wanted to sleep. And then find out what the date was and where the Hell was Alphonse.

"It connects the two worlds. I don't really know what it is. A passage, or… a storage for everything that gets out. I have no idea. I just know there's… never mind. I don't think it's meant for us to understand."

Potter nodded and glanced at the blonde, who spoke.

"We didn't open 'the Gate'; at least not consciously."

'What kind of connection do they have to be able to do that?'

When he finally abandoned the subject of the wordless communication between the two men and gave it some thought, it was pretty obvious that these two couldn't have opened the Gate. It took a genius in Alchemy years of studying (objectively) and if they didn't even _know what_ the Gate was… Being from 'other side' they were, naturally, unable to study Alchemy. Someone must have sent them over.

"See, I've got absolutely no idea how did we get here and why and what is this place and- Potter says we got lost in the 'spatio-temporal continuum', I've got not a clue what he means – where did you learn such words? You know, Severus would be proud-"

The blonde shut up as the entire house started to quake. Edward caught a glimpse of the enraged scowl on Potter's face as the light flickered and died out…

"Oh-y," mumbled somebody quietly and a while later the light returned.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to, you know I didn't mean to…" the blonde poured out and threw himself around Potter's middle, hugging _him_ and burying his face in _his_ belly. Potter reopened his eyes and gazed at Edward, while his right hand moved up to stroke the back of the blonde's head.

'What the Hell are you!'

The blonde looked up.

"D-don't be afraid," he said through tears, "w-we w-won't hurt you. W-we j-just n-need a p-place… to stay in. At least till the morning. Could we please…"

A pair of emerald eyes was piercing him; they were too deep and Edward got lost. He remembered the feeling when he saw them for the first time… he had no idea _who_ or _what_ 'Potter' was, but the fact that Ed now knew _he_ was human didn't make _him_ any less… mysterious. He still had the aura of eternity around himself; not the kind of ancient, cold, emotionless, killing eternity of Homunculi… this was… chaos. Potter was filled with chaos that scared and attracted Edward at the same time… he didn't remember anything like that from the Gate.

He shivered.

"Stay," he whispered. He still wasn't able to take care of himself; he needed Al and Winry, but to get them he needed somebody to call them… he could trade that for letting these two men in his house.

"O-thank you, we… I… I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." The blonde extended his hand – his _right_ hand. Ed looked at him with scowl, but he couldn't muster any real anger. Another squeeze of _Malfoy's_ arm and _his_ eyes flickered towards Potter. The blonde's mouth formed a small 'o' and his hand lowered. He uncertainly looked back and forth, as though asking for instructions.

Then Ed belatedly remembered.

"I'm Edward Elric."


	8. Seventeen

Merlin… I'm so far gone. _Begging_ for reviews. Damn me.  
Still, they make me a happier writer. Saa, onegai…  
Btw, I've finally completed this story, so I'm not frustrated about the way it all does not fit, because it actually decided to fit veeery nice in the end… but you'll have to wait to see that :-P. I namely didn't manage to make it shorter than awful P+12Ch+E. Damn me again, and this time properly…  
Thus Brynn spoke.

Chapter 7: Seventeen

Draco was sleeping. It gave Harry a bit of time for himself, when he didn't have to chase after the blonde and make sure that _he_ wasn't destroying anything.

He would be the first to say that he wasn't much of a social person, but even with his ill-disposition he decided to spend his time in the first bedroom. Draco had – predictably – occupied the second one, and Harry had no desire to just idly sit in the kitchen and watch his newly opened wounds re-knit themselves. It itched and he needed to take his mind off the sensation.

He had expected Edward to be also asleep, but wasn't really surprised when he found _him_ awake, and staring at the ceiling. There wasn't much to see and Harry had a suspicion that despite his lack of ability to communicate in words, he was going to be a welcome distraction.

"Morning…" grumbled the boy and turned his head to watch the newcomer. Harry, in a rare flash of inspiration (as he spotted the mess on the working desk under the window) took a pad and a pencil, and sat down next to Edward.

Hello. How are you feeling?

"Guess I'm not feeling at all, not that I'm complaining."

I drugged you. It wasn't completely truth, but as close as he could get to it. It shouldn't affect your mind, though.

Edward faintly nodded and scowled. It seemed he was scowling often; at least judging by the creases in the corners of his eyes. It made Harry wonder… and, well, there wasn't a better activity for him…

How old are you?

The boy looked at him apprehensively.

"You?"

17

"Funny… me to. And… Look at us."

For a while they just stared at each other and then, as though on cue, they burst in laugh. It bordered on hysteria, but it was still better than if they cried. Harry was curious by nature, but even he didn't want to know what had happened to Edward to get him in such state… or what had happened to him before, to make him need the prosthetic limbs the parts of which lay in disarray on the floor.

"Your friend… he's not healthy, is he."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

He's not. I don't think anyone can help him now. Can we help _you_?

"Yeah. Contact my brother. It's still too early, though."

Harry bethought it. If they were to phone the brother – were there telephones here? – he would have to take Draco out. He wasn't content with that. On the other hand, if Edward showed him on some map where they were, and where his brother was, he could Apparate there… It would be far quicker.

'Yet better. I can read the directions from his mind.'

Where is your brother?

"He's with Winry. In Risenbool. I'll give you a phone number-"

'Legilimens.'

Harry never before encountered a mind like this. He imagined Dumbledore, and maybe Snape – God damn him – might have felt somewhat like this. Edward was… not intelligent. He was _fucking_ brilliant. A genius. With a will stronger than _anybody_ Harry _ever_ met…

'And he's seventeen. Bloody seventeen…'

He felt like crying, unintentionally seeing glimpses of Edward's life here and there, the thoughts and memories which _he_ had in his mind right now and which had to be passed by, were he to retrieve the information he needed.

And, finally, there was it. The geographic view of Central and Risenbool and the railway between them… mountains and hills and planes… a house… A dog with a metallic leg and a blonde girl with a lamp in the first floor. Winry.

"What the Hell did you just do?" Edward asked, trying to keep his anger in check. Unsuccessfully. The only thing that stopped him from attacking Harry head on was the state he was in and that any interaction with the parts that were impossible to remove, so they remained connected with flesh, caused him pain.

I will alert your friend. She would know what to do with your arm and leg, right?

"How…" Edward's eyes widened. Harry stuck the pad virtually in his face and made him read.

I'll go before Draco wakes up. Can I borrow some clothes?

The blonde girl he had seen wasn't dressed to decently, but he guessed that she _would_ have a problem were she to see him like he was now… Edward was still gaping at him. Harry knew that he had crossed a line there; he should have been much much more careful when he knew how intelligent Edward was. But it was a proverbial spilt potion.

"Hm?" It was the most eloquent thing Harry had said in hours. He missed the ability to speak dearly.

"Ye-eah. My clothes. They're… _not so big_, but there's nothing else."

He gestured to the half-opened case with his head. Harry went over to it and surveyed the options. Edward had a good – albeit monotonous – taste. It made the choice of clothing much simpler – Harry simply took the first tank top, boxers and pants he reached. They would have been slightly short, but he was a wizard.

He winked on his way to the door and gave a lop-sided smirk to the utterly stunned boy lying in the bed.

o

Harry knew it long before he could see it.

He felt it in his bones… then smelled it in the air… and then faced it.

He should have known… this bloody curse would _never_ leave him. He was _forever_ going to be hurting the people around him. It was _not_ a coincidence that he saved Edward's life. As though it was some sadistic _trade_ or something.

He stood on a hill and stared down into the valley and a single tear trickled down his face because he simply _refused_ to laugh. The clothes he had borrowed were incredibly comfortable; they must have been chosen for the freedom of movement they provided. Much better than his robes… or the shirt and trousers he had burnt when he sent the Death Eaters where they belonged…

But he had failed to send them all. And the consequences lay right in front of him.

The village was quiet, but for the occasional crow. It was also still, at least when he overlooked the remnants of black smoke slythering over the road out from a few houses. The field around him was covered with soft grey ash, and the sky, even though clear and pink, was marred with the residue of _Morsmordre_ to Harry's eyes.

He waited until the tear fell and then set out, pacing up the way between the two rows of houses with the same kind of calm Draco might have been feeling. The smell of burnt flesh didn't make him want to retch anymore. He had had too much of that.

He deliberately focused on the path, knowing that he _would_ have to take care of the corpses anyway, lest the people who find the village in this state… well, he simply _had to_. He understood it as a part of his saviour-job. It was his fault that Voldemort got here. It was his fault these people were dead. His fault.

Rockbell house remained intact, too far from the others to catch fire, but apparently not far enough to be safe from the homicide. The main door was open and Harry didn't even bother to brace himself as he stepped in. Everything there reeked of blood, death and Voldemort. The floor creaked under his bare feet and he followed the trail of red drops up the stairs. There was a room with shattered door and shattered window. He went inside.

An empty suit of armor _sat_ next to the wall, bearing faint scorch-marks that experienced eye automatically associated with Unforgivables. There was a girl – a way too familiar girl – spread over the metallic legs. She, too, bore scorch-marks, but the large dent in her torso indicated that she hadn't died on the receiving end of an Avada Kedavra. The wound was exactly the size of the bloodied gauntlets of the armor.

'Winry…' He squatted down next to her. She was cold and stiff, and, strangely enough, grasping the suit as she had been in her agony. It was hard to turn her over, but he had to be sure. And he had to look.

A pair of bright blue eyes stared at him unseeingly. Now, dead, she wasn't as pretty, as Edward had remembered her. But it _was_ her. Without any doubts.

'I'm so sorry, Winry. So sorry…'


	9. Obliviate

Review, please?

Chapter 8: Obliviate

Harry's hands were clean. He hadn't touched anything apart from Winry, after all. There wasn't a sign of blood, no stink, no… nothing. Harry's hands were simply clean.

And still, he felt all the mud and grime that was stuck to them, cursed by the soul of every single person murdered in Risenbool, every man, every woman, every child… and Winry was walking just a step behind his right shoulder, supervising him and what he did with the bodies, as though to ensure that he would be respectful towards them. He was. As much as transfiguring them into gravestones and levitating them to the graveyard allowed him.

Every time he turned around she disappeared – there only was the odd movement he caught through the corner of his eye while he was concentrating on some kind of magic. She did not say a word and after a while he was sure it was only his conscience haunting him… his conscience and him were the only entities present in the dead village. And so he walked through it as an Augurey, a wand held in each hand and chanelling a flow of magic which didn't seem to cease…

And in the end there was no one but Winry left. He didn't know why – maybe because he knew her name – but he made the effort of burying the girl properly. It was a rare show of sentiment from him, but he could imagine that should Edward ever want to visit her grave, it better be worth _his_ friend.

When it was done he went back to the house and took what Winry wouldn't have given him, but Edward was going to need. The plans for his prosthetic limbs – 'the Automail'. Clutching the rolls under his arm, he Apparated back to 'Central'.

This time he crossed all the distance in a single Apparition and actually arrived correctly. In front of Edward's house. Dreading the grim duty that was awaiting him inside, but not allowing himself to stall, Harry resulotely walked towards the entrance. There was a dead cat on the street – overrun by a car – and he couldn't help but shake his head at it. A death so… vain. There was a war – he gathered enough information to put together that the place they were in – 'Amestris' – was in war, too. And that it somehow concerned Edward more than an average citizen. He didn't pry further… Point was, there was a war, and people were being killed. And someone drove over a cat. Ridiculous. Pointless.

'I've got to stop that…'

o

Edward was used to the front door being slammed shut, but when the droning of the blonde boy about his parents and food and clothes and some weirdos that were his schoolmates or something (of which nothing made much sense) was the only sound for so long, even the quiet click was enough to alert him to the other presence in the house.

Just as he anticipated, a while later the bedroom door slid open and a head popped inside. A pair of green eyes skimmed the room and stopped on Malfoy, who was sitting on the floor next to Ed's bed.

There was something very, very wrong.

Ed had already opened his mouth to speak, but Potter disappeared from the doorway and left him to suffer Malfoy's presence on his own. He wished the boy an immediate physical harm and returned to sulking, which the infuriating loony in his room didn't mind at all.

Fortunately for Potter (and for Edward as well, though he refused to acknowledge it), the man returned a while later.

The trouble was that now, in the daylight and having the chance to look at _him_ properly, Ed could see that… that Potter was no longer dark-haired. His hair was the same mess as it had been before, with stray locks obscuring his eyes, it just was… white. Not grey as by old people, it was the pearly white of snow only the eldest of eldest ever reached. It contrasted obscenely with the seventeen-year-old face and the emerald green gaze.

Ed was so shocked that he couldn't find words. Somewhere in the corner of his mind he was aware that he should have probably started a rant by now, but the dread – for he _knew_ something terrible had happened to affect Potter like this, even though there was nothing in his behaviour that pointed towards that – within him paralysed him.

Potter was carrying a small bowl of porridge. Ed knew well that there had been nothing in the house of which even a semblance of porridge could be created… maybe with Alchemy, but these two were no Alchemists. It _was_ suspicious… the next suspicious thing he noticed was that his clothes _fit_ Potter, even though he could have sworn that the man was much taller than himself.

Not even the ache it would elicit could stop him from shivering.

"He says you should eat a lot to regain your strength, but you should eat it slowly…" Malfoy's words this time actually reached Ed's brain, and he nodded to Potter as _he_ crossed the room and put the bowl on the table. He was helped with sitting up and it didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have. Ed's anger slowly dissipated, and he actually half-smirked – if only to mask his fear – accepting the bowl. He was used to eating with his left hand.

Potter didn't smirk back.

"Were you aways mute?" Ed asked and put the spoon in his mouth.

"Potter? He used to talk waaay too much. That's before they blasted his tongue." Malfoy stood up, took the other boy's jaw in his hand and jerked _his_ mouth open. Edward got a glimpse of an empty cavern before squeezing his eyes shut. It wasn't exactly something he would like to see.

"I never used to speak a lot…" sitting down, he received a glare from the white haired man.

"Ok, so I did, but not as big lot as I do now. Got to speak for the both of us, you know." He sighed.

"Still, it's a shame they blasted it. Kissing him now isn't nearly half the fun it used to be… he was talented from the beginning and learned from the Master – that's me… Are you a good kisser?" The question caught Edward by surprise and before he could think of an answer, the Malfoy kid scrambled to his knees, leant over the edge of the bed and french-kissed him. Apart from feeling very uncomfortable in the situation, the action caused a pressure on the remnants of his automail and sent a wave of agony through his already numbed nerves. He didn't sense anything but the searing, white hot pain.

"A fairly good kisser," stated Malfoy after pulling away. Edward forced his eyes to open and caught a glimpse of Potter leaving the room.

"Doesn't it… hurt him?" he asked quietly. Malfoy bethought it.

"Yeah, I think so. But he does a lot of things that hurt me – letting his tongue be blasted's the least. After a while you can get used to it. I can train you. You could be one Hell of a kisser, a lot better than Potter ever was – just don't tell him-"

Potter re-entered the room carrying another bowl of porridge and waved his hand dismissively. Ed was sure that the man didn't give a damn about which one of them was a better kisser. In fact, Edward didn't either. Someone had two hands, someone a tongue.

They shared a glance over the kneeling blonde and understood what each other had to say, without speaking, writing, or gesturing. _Someone kept his sanity_. Though Potter undeniably intrigued Edward, it was obvious that he loved the rambling boy. And was going to love him even if that rambling boy was reduced to a stuttering heap on the floor.

Potter passed the bowl to Malfoy and gestured him to eat. The blonde nodded, didn't give the porridge a second glance, but put it in front of himself.

"So, Edward, do you want me to train you?" Potter raised an eyebrow.

"Not… now…" Ed wasn't keen on another agonising shot of pain like the one a while before.

"Maybe someday…"Malfoy concluded. "I dunno how long are we staying… Potter, how long are we staying?" He didn't wait for a response (it was a shrug, but he, being turned in the opposite direction, couldn't see it), stuffed a disgustingly gigantic spoon of porridge in his mouth and continued rambling.

"Uh eih ure oungh eough." He became momentarily distracted by the food and eyed (who Ed supposed was) his boyfriend just to receive another shrug.

o

Finally.

Ed had already started thinking he too was going to say farewell to his sanity, when Malfoy simply fell asleep in the middle of a word. Potter, alerted probably by the sudden silence, walked in the room and took in the scene. He winked at Edward, gathered the slumbering blonde in his arms and with unsuspected ease carried him away.

It was only a slight bit of surprise when the white-haired man returned a while later and sat on the side of Ed's bed. A steady, warm hand pulled the covers down to his middle. For a while he couldn't decide what was it he was afraid of most.

"What happened out there?"

Potter ignored the request, just as he ignored the pad and pencil on the table. He pushed his bangs out of his face and captured Ed's gaze. Behind those green eyes there was such a sharp mind that it could cut through your soul if you weren't cautious enough.

Cautiousness was never Edward's thing.

"Tell me what happened-"

'I was in Risenbool.'

Edward gasped and jerked, and then bit his tongue to stiffle the outcry of pain. Those words… they hadn't been spoken aloud! It was like… like… as if Potter pressed _his_ thought inside Ed's had and… then the true implications of what _he_ said hit him.

He frowned, trying to process it, but unsuccessfully. He wanted to believe that Potter was lying, but Potter _wasn't_ lying. Hell, Potter wasn't even _saying_ anything – of course he wasn't, he _couldn't_ say anything!

'You must not speak to anybody about what I am going to show you,' Potter stated mentally, and though it wasn't more than a thought Ed could tell it was quiet yet resolute.

"W-what are you-"

'Promise.'

"I-"

'Promise!'

Potter's scowl on the poor, already freaked-out Ed had much the same effect as Mustang's glare would have had.

"I promise."

Potter relaxed, though not as much as to allow himself a smile.

'You will have to be patient, because I'm starting at the beginning- no! You _will_ be patient.'

Ed shut his mouth.

'We – me and Draco – are _wizards_. That is how we were able to get lost in the spatio-temporal continuum in the first place.'

'Right. Wizards.' Ed's mind just accepted that the same way he would accept a fairy-tale. Something he had to refer to so he wouldn't be confused about the storyline, but not a part of reality.

'We were supposed –_I_ was supposed – to destroy a guy that was trying to terrorise and rule the world. I won't bother you with deails. He's a wizard too.'

Ed cracked a grin that had nothing to do with happiness.

"When you say 'wizard', you mean...?"

Potter sighed and rubbed his temple.

'That I can _do magic_. Erase your pain. Talk to you in your head. Travel to Risenbool and back in a few seconds.'

The mention of Risenbool made Ed decide that he didn't care what the Hell these two were, he had to know what happened. But when he tried to ask, he realised he was unable to produce any sound.

'Ed…' Potter's – and consequently Edward's – mind filled with pain and disgust and self-loathing, 'I failed. He still… lives. And he's here.'

'How do you-' his eyes widened 'Winry-'

The white locks entwined around _his_ fingers as Potter hid _his_ face in _his_ hands.

'Where's Winry!' Ed ignored the pain and launched himself on Potter, wringing the fingers of his only hand around _his_ neck…

…before he blacked out.


	10. Love and Hatred

Thanks ti **Me And My God Complex** for the single review.

Chapter 9: Love and Hatred

When Ed woke up, he was lying in his bed. Trouble was, that his bed was now about two times as broad as it had been last time he remembered. He had been shifted to its centre and fastened by alchemised straps-

Except that neither Potter nor Malfoy were Alchemists.

He experimentally tugged on the material and it proved to be _very_ solid. In fact, it didn't allow him any movement at all… His immediate – natural – reaction was anger, but then he realised that the tiniest – whether willing or unwiling – movement caused him so much pain… The anger didn't dissolve, it was merely tinged with expectation and a wee bit of gratefulness that he refused to admit to himself.

Thinking about how did he get into this position, he came to the conclusion that it was due to a rapid loss of consciousness. However, details slipped away… and he wasn't given the chance to chase after them, because Potter chose precisely that moment to come into view.

'Ed…'

'What the… oh.' It was hard to breath. But Edward manage. In the end he always survived and he _had_ been through worse things than being paralysed on his bed by moderately-friendly man who claimed he was a _wizard_. Now that he remembered that minute information, Ed decided that maybe he was a bit too open-minded for his own good.

Well, you've got to learn to admit obvious things if you want to see another day… even if those obvious things are supposed to be impossible. Ed only ever fully trusted two people in the whole world – one being Alphonse, the other himself. And no matter how many other people told him, _proved him_, that magic didn't exist, he wasn't an idiot – he believed his own six senses.

Potter's hand rested on his sternum and a moment later he felt much lighter. Breathing became easier again and Edward realised that while he was unconscious Potter removed all the parts of his Automail that weren't fastened. He turned his head – the only part of his body that wasn't held by the straps – to the left, and gasped.

His bed wasn't the only 'broadened' thing. In fact the entire room had been 'expanded' to accommodate _it_, the new table, and so there was still enough space for the case and for Potter to move freely in between the furniture.

The desk was covered in what he vaguely recognised as spare parts… and consequently as parts not so much spare… This was his Au- this was _himself_, dismantled, sorted, spread out over the table. As if _he_ was some fucking _thing_! As if they could just _undo_ him when he stopped working properly- he jerked – or at least his body tried to, but it wasn't allowed by the manacles.

He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Potter' s hand moved from his sternum to his forehead.

'Calm down, Ed. Easy… Relax…' Whatever Potter was doing to him, it actually worked. The man was scary with his small weird creases of conern and white hair, and the nurse-like behaviour combined with Ed's combat outfit, and no tongue but a way of putting words in your mind, and ability to silence someone or make someone sleep or make porridge off a week old bread and –urgh- milk and the way he was gazing at Edward right now and…

Ed shuddered and not even the straps prevented him from doing so.

'I'll fix you. Be patient. I'm going to need all the help you can provide, because you are the genius here and this is the bloody most complex puzzle I've ever seen…'

Those haunting green eyes fixed on him and he faintly nodded, because he simply couldn't fight all the forceful determination focused into a single look. But that didn't mean he would just put up with _everything_.

'I'm not a thing, Potter.'

His only response was a grimace of pain. It almost physically hurt to see the angel/monster/boy in so much despair…

'You know… you're so much like him. So much…'

The man wiped his eyes, but Ed had seen that there were no tears in them.

'Potter-'

'So _fucking_ much…'

That was the first expletive he ever heard – well, _received_ – from Potter; somehow it shocked him. He was used to swearing – he minded his language only when he was around Al – and pretty much all his coworkers (out of Hawkeye's earshot) spoke just like that, not to mention the criminals he met on daily basis. But Potter was… whatever it was, it wasn't supposed to use such words. It was supposed to be powerful and merciful and untouchable.

'It's so _not_ fair… why couldn't he have died… why…'

He took a deep breath and put up an effort to get a grip on himself. Wind that certainly shouldn't have been there blew Edward's hair in his face.

'Right. Because I'm the Boy Who Lived To See Everything Go Down The Drain… the bloody Chosen One Who Shall Destroy Voldemort And Spend The Rest Of His Pitiful Existence Nursing A Mental Boyfriend-'

"Shut up, Potter!" Ed yelled and his eyes widened as the room started shaking. The window pane trembled, bent inside, and then exploded, littering the backstreet with shards of glass…

'People stand in line to get themselves killed in my stead, because I am the bloody Child of the bloody Prophecy-'

"Shut! Up!"

Suddenly the air, cut by a blood-curdling shriek from Alphonse's bedroom, stilled. Potter froze and slowly, as though afraid of what he might cause next, brought up his hand. His veins were standing out – dark blue lines on the background of skin. He sighed.

'I'm sorry. It's just… there's so much magic stored in this place and nobody ever uses it… it's a bit of overload and tends to leak when I get emotional. I didn't mean to frighten you. Or hurt you- oh, I didn't hurt you, did I?'

Ed rolled his eyes. He had been worried back then, but it wasn't worth such a _Malfoy_ rant.

"Calm down, Potter. You're-"

'Right… sorry.'

Potter turned to the window and _repaired_ it with a swirling motion of one of those stick-like tools he carried everywhere with himself. It was… just like Alchemy, only that he had a stick instead of a circle… and a lot more effective.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened to you, whatever it was… But if you just lay down and wait for death you won't ever get anywhere. Nothing will happen. You'll just die. It wouldn't help you, him, anyone-"

'Right.'

Potter stood up from the bed and took a step towards the door. Ed scowled.

"I didn't say it to upset you. I didn't think you were a sissy – it was supposed to-"

'I'm going to make Dray sleep again. I guess I gave him a scare and if he's hysterical there will be trouble.'

Edward hushed and glared at the empty doorway with disdain.

o

'Draco?'

"Don't… please don't… please don't… please don-"

Harry snapped the door open and more or less ran into the room. Draco was curled in the corner, clutching his upper arms in a death grip and rocking back and forth in the sinister rhythm of his pleas. With every 'don't' the back of his head gently hit the wall, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make Harry yet more nervous than he already was.

'Draco…' he gasped and knelt down in front of the blonde. _He_ stopped rocking and chanting, inquisitevly tilted his head to the side and grinned.

"Hello, Harry. Hello… The sky is blue is blue is blue like… like Dumbly's robes. He always had funny robes, Dumbly, you knew Dumbly, didn't you? Of course Dumbly's dead so his robes aren't blue as sky anymore, but you won't kill Severus again, Harry, will you? Severus!"

He paled and with an with an inhuman effort forced himself to remain calm enough to not make the house cave in on them. Snape. There it was again. The blackest stain on Harry's black existence.

'Draco, do you feel alright?'

The other boy let go of his arms – Harry noticed already appearing bruises – and with his hands extended shrugged.

"I feel the bestest only don't like the food here. They were so mean, the Dark Lord was mean and wouldn't give us food, but they here are mean too, cause they have only apples that are good and they are wrinkled. Hey, Harry, did you notice your hair changed colour? Why did you dye it? Black was good-"

'Alright, Draco. It seems to me that you are just _fine_.' Harry was gritting his teeth so hard it was almost audible. 'Off to bed with you.'

The blonde smiled.

"Anytime." He caught both Harry's wrists in a bruising grip – obviously had no clue about how much force he used – and dragged him over to the cot. Of the two of them, Draco had always been the physically stronger one, and now he didn't have the common sense anymore, so he had no qualms using that strength. It hurt. Both physically and emotionally.

Being pulled down into a kiss that was strikingly tender after the former – albeit unintentional – cruelty, Harry was on the verge of surrendering… but he didn't. Edward so totally didn't understand what was going on, and still his assessment of the situation was quite accurate: Harry couldn't afford to stop fighting right now.

'_Dormiens_.'

Draco's lithe body under his own fell limp, and Harry kissed the pink lips between two regular breaths before rolling off the bed and walking out of the room.

o

"Pot-"

'He's sleeping.'

Ed lowered his voice.

"So you really didn't stalk off because I started spouting 'wisdom'?"

The white-haired man raised an eyebrow.

'You sound surprised. I've listened to so much 'wisdom' that I am immune.'

"Sucks for you. Otherwise you could hear something useful," he growled and turned to face the other side. Potter guffawed, startling Edward.

'Yeah… you're right. You've got no idea how many times I've heard that. I guess I should have listened back then – now it's a bit too late.'

"What-"

'Hey, don't get worked up over it. I'm not completely sane either,' he stated as though it was the most common thing in the world. Thinking about it, Ed realised that among certain kind of people it really might have been natural… sort of the same way Colonel Bastard was insane. Nobody dared say it aloud, of course, but he knew it – and still, he wished the Bastard had at least come to say Goodbye. He wouldn't have spent the week drying up and dying… and wouldn't have had to be saved by a pair of loonies.

'Honestly, Ed. You're not exactly one o talk.'

"I'm _completely_ sane, Pot-" he paused. It wasn't all that weird to call somebody by his surname even though they called him 'Edward', but this boy was the same age, not in the Military, and definitely no his superior-

'It's _Harry_.'

"What?"

'The name. My name is Harry.'

"Not Severus?" Then who was Malfoy calling? Was _he _such a schizophrenic that he was seeing other people? Or were there in fact more peole sardined in the house than he had seen? He had agreed to offer accommodation to these two, but not to a horde of-

His contemplation was disturbed by the faint eerie sound of a vibrating glass. He turned his head back and looked at Potter – Potter, who was uncharacteristically pale in the face.

"Potter!"

'Oh.' The glass became once more what it was supposed to be – a silent, motionless, inanimate pane. Ed felt the tension in the atmosphere rise, but this time the white-haired man kept himself under control.

'Sorry.'

"That won't undo anything! Fine, you can repair a broken window, but what if you killed me-"

'One more or less.'

Ed's eyes widened and suddenly the situation he found himself in made too much sense. He desperately tugged at the manacles, but it was in vain. He couldn't even fight; he was utterly, pitifully, hopelessly screwed…

'To indulge my sick sense of humour, _Severus Snape_-'

Ed had heard names being spoken with spite, but the ease with which Potter did it hinted at long-practised mastery.

'-was my teacher once. He was an _ally_, _vital_ for our side, he was the most useful _spy_. And I hated him.'

Ed gulped, hoping against hope that he hadn't done anything to make Potter mad. If he had, he couldn't help it – it was just the way he was. He acted like he felt he should, ignoring policy and manners and _etiquette_ and all that stuff people deviced to escape facing the reality. Hell, it was all Colonel Bastard's fault if he couldn't behave – he never had a father to teach him these things and the one man that was supposed to _tame_ him failed so spectacularly… he just _hated_ Roy Mustang…

'Then you can comprehend why I killed him, right?'

"Potter, hatred is not a reason good enough to murder. I have met a few Ishbalits – that's an entire race that had been eradicated just because some idiotic blockheads _hated_ them… I would recommend you to talk to a few of them. They can teach you a lot about life.

As for my _superior_, I would punch the living daylights out of him any day… but I don't want him to die…"

Potter smiled a small, almost calm smile and sat on the side of Edward's bed _he_ was currently facing. There was something soothing about his demeanor, something that made Ed believe that despite the previous comment the man wasn't as messed up as he pretended and in fact didn't intend to kill _him_.

'Then it is not _hatred_. Hatred is when you are willing to die if it just would piss the man off. Hatred is when you would give everything you have to see him suffer, see him bleed, see him… humiliated. When you would sell your soul to be allowed to kill him-'

"That's sick- no, that's mental." Ed _did_ hate Roy Mustang.

'Heh… You know what? Dray and I used to be like that. We _thought_ we hated each other for _years_… And look at us now- well, not now, but before that happened… good gracious God…'

"Potter!"

'What?'

"Prevention. Get on with whatever you tied me for. I don't enjoy being in this position with two madmen running around…"


	11. Truth

Chapter 10: Truth

'Right.

I'm sorry about that, but, I know it sounds rather obscene, it's for your own good. I can only imagine how having this junk connected hurts, but I would hazard a guess – much more than my spells can compensate. I won't chance having you writhe while I'm trying to put this garbage together.'

"That 'garbage' is me-"

'Sucks for you.'

Edward actually had the opinion that he was lucky he had the Automail, but refrained from saying it out aloud. Winry would pout and tell him he was a geek or something like that- Wait, Winry? There was something… important about her. But the only thing he knew was that he had forgotten what it was.

He had told Potter to phone the Rockbells, hadn't he?

"Po- uh, Harry, did you talk to my brother?"

'No,' the man responded, leaning over the desk yet again. Then he straightened and smirked back at Edward over his shoulder.

'I think I got it.'

'The Hell you-' Ed froze. Potter could have gotten it, because he had the plans for his Automail. And he had the plans because he _had_ been to Risenbool. And…

He groaned. There was a patch of blackness over his memories – the information was there; he could virtually feel it… he just couldn't approach it. There was a something over it, something that blocked it, and he had every reason to suspect that the something had to do with the loony that was right now keeping him tied to his own bed (which, naturally, didn't resemble his own bed all that much).

'Don't move.'

Ed was about to scream, when all the sound in the room died. This was what _nothing_ sounded like. An emptiness. Vacuum. Potter's forehead creased in a frown of all-engulfing concentration; Ed could have sworn the man was aware of every sprinkle of dust in the room In a way that was more complex than the comprehending part of Transmutation.

But no decomposition came next; the tiny parts of metal and plastic _levitated_ from the table and hovered, suspended in the midair. Then the few in the middle joined together and one by one, the others flew to them, fitting like pieces of jigsaw held in place until a screw fell into the thread and drove in – all by itself. Edward watched the soundles dance of parts morbidly fascinated. This was so different from watching Winry working (not that she ever allowed anyone but Auntie Pinako to watch), _this_ was like looking at part of his body growing, sped up.

Then it _floated_ over to him and tentacles that _weren't_ there when Winry was connecting it stretched out and touched to his shoulder and Edwards thought he was going to be sick. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of punching Colonel Bastard to get his mind off what was happening to him, because having porridge and bile all over himself and his bed on top of everything would be too humiliating… and way too nasty to clean.

He was actually _glad_ for the straps a moment later. This was the kind of pain he faintly remembered from the time Pinako and Winry attached the bases, only much weaker (persumably reduced by Potter's 'spells'). He was in such a bad shape back then that he didn't remember much of it now… only that it had changed him so much on the inside, that he managed to remain almost the same on the outside. It was a good thought and he clung to it for as long as his mind allowed him to before returning to the more immediate pain.

It was gone much faster than he ever remembered it to finish. Then the pull on his left arm and right leg disappeared.

There was a distant cry of "Severus" and, falling asleep, Edward decided that Potter should really find a different way of solving his problems than constantly making the people around him lose consciousness. Thought this, undoubtedly, worked.

o

They joined hands. It eased the chanelling a lot, helping Harry control the magic of both of them. He was more skilled with using it; Draco knew that were he to control it, they would be vainly loosing a lot of precious energy. He was content with the arrangments - he looked around uncertainly, then took a deep breath and gave Harry a rather chaste kiss that felt painfully like a goodbye. The stones started crumbling…

He had counted the stones and estimated the points where the wall was weakest, so that they only had to blast three bricks to get out, and most likely wouldn't make the entire building cave in on them. He soundlessly pointed at them and Harry nodded, quickly averting his eyes… but not quickly enough.

It hurt Draco to realise how much they wanted to continue, how much they both wanted to keep living; it was so unfair that they had to die _now_, whene there was something so undescribably good in their lives, better then they ever could imagine… now that they were in love.

The three pinpointed bricks blew up in clouds of dust. Draco took a step forwards before Harry could do it and kicked the centre of gravity of the triangle. Predictably, the section of the wall fell outside into the corridor.

He went first, because if, against the chances, a Death Eater stood there, wand aimed at the hole and an Unforgivable on the tip of his tongue, it would better be him to receive it. Harry didn't even attempt to stop him…

There was no Death Eater, just a lot of rum (their work) and an empty torch-holder. Obviously, this wasn't a frequently used corridor, and _they_ didn't expect their prisoners to escape through that place. Of course, most of the Death Eaters were otherwise respectable citizens, so they would have no idea about the efficient ways of escaping a cell. The guard (if there even was one) must have been stationed on the other side, and now racking their brains about what might have caused the crash.

'Let them wonder…' Draco though with a smirk and set out in the direction he supposed might have led them out, because Harry's orientation sense was… well… nonexistent.

There was a room at the end of the corridor, a vast, unused space furnished with only an old, ragged sofa and a rug in front of the hearth that had not seen fire (but for the torches on the walls) in decades. And, most importantly, there was a man sitting on that sofa.

Or, rather, _had been_ sitting on the sofa, because he abruptly stood up as soon as Draco barged in – but, to both his and Harry's surprise overlooked the blonde's presence and looked at the dark-haired man.

"Potter… and I already thought that you were too idiotic to manage leaving that room on your own."

Draco shivered. He knew that _Professor Snape_ was a very powerful man, he also knew that _he_ was a spy and thus very brave, and, above all, _he_ was used to intimidate…

But this wasn't a way to talk to Harry.

He stopped in his tracks and looked back, just in time to see Harry lower his eyes to his feet… This was bad. Very, very, very catastrophically bad… because Severus was used to Harry looking down when he was ashamed or scared, not when he was barely containing his anger, which otherwise had the tendency to result in unexpected surges of power that burnt whatever stood in their way…

"Now that you have finally deigned, Tiberius _asked_ me to deliver this to-"

Draco peripherally noticed Severus pulling something out of the inner pocket of his robes, but his attention was focused mainly on seething Harry, who was trying his best to keep his powers in check. He was drawing deep uneven breaths and clutching his fists so hard that it would result in another set of scars. His palms had already looked as if he had pressed them against a Muggle grater.

"Give me your wand," Harry whispered, but the sound eerily resounded between the bare walls. Severus scowled.

"And what makes _you_, Potter, think that I would listed to your silly requests-"

"That wasn't a request. That was an order."

Severus almost lost it; he had his wand pointed at Harry's face and just barely restraining himself from casting a hex.

Draco swallowed, because there was no way to avoid the confrontation now. Even if all Severus wanted was to give them the Portkey to get them into safety, but he just _had_ to provoke Harry. Harry had gone through so much in the past few days that he deserved to be coddled and fussed over, or at least left alone, definitely not people who were rude to him.

"Come on, Snape. I am not in a patient mood and I _need_ that wand."

"You don't need a wand, Potter. You will now take this piece of garbage and deliver yourself to the-"

Harry lifted his hand in the air. The wand abandoned Severus's hand and flew through the air to him. He clasped it and fingered the tip. It let out a few content sparks. Harry smirked.

He and the wand were compatible. It didn't really surprise either him or Draco. Though it shocked Severus.

"Re-"

"This is a good wand, Snape. I think I'll keep it."

Draco stepped forwards, aiming for Harry's hand, because if he decided that this was the right moment to forget his conscience and act on his instincts – not that they weren't _always_ right – but this was _Severus_…

"You little sonofab-"

"Shut up," Harry said completely calm, and Draco knew it was too late. He tried pleading, but his tongue wouldn't obey him; he was paralysed with shock and dread and maybe a bit of magic, too…

"I've let you slander my father for years, but don't you _dare_ say a word about my mother."

Severus, shaking with silent rage, snapped, thrust away the Portkey and advanced at Harry-

Who cast.

"Severus!" Draco screamed. Everything was a blur; the guard from the prison barging in and having their head chopped off with an offhand hex and Draco taking their wand and-

'Wake up! Wake up, Draco, it isn't real, it's just a dream…'

His eyes opened. He was staring at the ceiling. The ceiling was blurred as his memories… he wiped his eyes. They had been… wet.

'Is not real…'

"Harry, you wouldn't kill Severus…" he said quietly. A pair of strong arms embraced him and pulled him up to sit. A soft kiss was pressed to his eyebrow.

'No, Draco.'

He looked into Harry's eyes. Big eyes, green eyes, eyes like two emeralds, but he had seen emeralds and Harry's eyes were so much more beautiful and alive and sad and cruel and lying.

"You lie."

He didn't smile, but Draco didn't want him to. He didn't want the eyes to be any different that they were, because the eyes were Harry's and Harry was everything.

'Yes.'

"I love you," Draco said and kissed Harry, sliding his hands into _his_ hair like he used to do it while they were still at Hogwarts or in the Grimmauld place when nobody was watching. Because they were happy then and he so desperately wanted Harry to be happy now.

'I love you too.'

"Now you're telling truth. I like it when you're telling truth. Tell me more truth."

'Voldemort is still allive. He is here.'

'It will work out, love, it always will work out, because Voldemort is the bastard and you are the hero and even though you killed Severus you are the good one, who will rescue the princess and kill the Dragon-'

Harry chuckled.

'I love you, Draco. I wouldn't kill you… and, while we're at it, what would I do with a princess?'

Draco pondered it. He didn't quite get the first part, but he knew what to do with princesses.

'You would make her buy us a house and we would live in it. And eat a lot and lot of apples. Nice ones, not those wrinkled you always fed me.'

Harry was laughing and it was good. Because Draco wanted Harry to be happy.

o

A/N: Uh… creepy. Review, please?


	12. Law of Conservation

Chapter 11: Law of Conservation

"What did you do to me?"

The blonde boy was standing in the doorway, where he most certainly shouldn't have been standing… Right, Harry had ceded the spell soon after Draco's presence… overhelmed him. Hell, even insane he was still Draco, still cruel and sweet and intoxicating the same way…

'I made you sleep.'

"Honestly, Potter, I noticed that. I mean my memories… what did you do to them?"

Harry finally looked up from Draco's face to Edward. It was strange, but Harry knew that this was the first time he actually saw the real Edward. Weary, tired, but holding himself straight, facing the _danger_ with a trademark Gryffindor courage bordering on idiocy.

He admired Edward; he knew that much from the snippets of memories he had seen, the way the boy acted around them and the reaction after he had found out that his friend was dead… which was precisely the reason they were now in this situation.

'I Obliviated you… it means you can't approach them.'

A pair of golden eyes flashed with ire and Harry realised he was smiling. There was nothing happy about the situation, but this person, who played host to them in exchange for their saving his life made him feel that life was worth living and battles were worth fighting as long as you had someone to take care of.

But Edward had lost everyone, hadn't he?

"I can apprehend those are not easy memories to chew. But what would you have me do rather? Blow my brain up trying to remember? Or live without knowing?"

'You would find out sooner or later,' Harry admitted. He wasn't smiling anymore. He hated yet _again_ being the one to tell the bereaved of their friend's and relative's death. Because if Edward's brother was in Risenbool, he _was_ dead.

"One more reason to tell me."

'I was in Risenbool. Voldemort had been there sooner. He had killed everybody.'

Ed dangerously swayed to the right, but steadied himself by catching the door frame faster than Harry would have thought possible. He tried to say something, but no sound came out.

Harry stared at his knees for a long while, trying to gather words to express what he was feeling – but there wasn't much he was feeling, so it was rather hard to express. Eventually he forced himself to look up and into the blonde's eyes.

'It's my fault that he came here. I'm sorry-'

But Edward shook his had, swallowing a sob.

"It's not. It's not… It's the bastard's- I'm going-"

'It _is_ my fault-'

"Bullshit."

'Ed, I played with the time space, I-'

"It's the bastard who killed Winry, right? And you are going to kill _him_, right?"

Harry nodded. It wasn't as if he had much choice – definitely not if he wanted to prevent another 'Risenbool'.

"I'm going with you."

'No.'

He couldn't allow this. He was the only one who had to face Voldemort and he had hated having to bring Draco along before, but now there was no one who could force him to take Edward. Looking at how Draco had come out of the encounter only strengthened the resolution. And anyway, Edward was not a wizard, so he couldn't even defend himself.

"You can't stop me, Harry."

'In fact I can. Easily. But I would rather not.'

That notion seemed to have Edward thinking. Before he came with a response – undoubtedly an argument why Harry _should_ take him along (and Harry could think of a few sound himself) – Harry offered him an option he hoped Ed would accept.

'Everything here – in _Amestris_ – works as some kind of trade, doesn't it.'

Ed nodded, chewing his bottom lip and clutching his right fist in his left hand, persumably for safety reasons.

"That's the Conservation Law, or Law of Equivalent Exchange. You cannot obtain anything without offering something of-"

'-the same value. Doesn't work in our world, but… makes sense.'

Harry pointed at his hair and Ed drew a sharp breath that idicated he understood what it meant. Even magic required something in return.

'That is one of the reasons why I won't take you wih me.'

Ed nodded again. Harry extended his hand and gently touched _his_ face, healing the bite-marks on _his_ lip. Edward traced his left index-finger over it and his eyes widened with amazement. Harry inwardly smiled – the simplest healing charm elicited such awe compared to a rather complex series of spells when he was building the Automail.

'I know Voldemort. He wants to get back, and to do that, he needs to find someone who can open the way for him. Is there someone you know of, who can open the 'Gate'?'

Ed grimly nodded. Both his hands lay unfisted on knees, as he sunk to the floor.

"There are still Homunculi – Wrath, Glutony, the new Greed. Envy, and then there is Hohenheim of Light, but they should be on the other side…"

That wasn't too many people, and Harry wasn't sure what 'Homunculi' were, so he didn't know whether they qualified as people.

'Somebody the people in Risenbool could have known about?' Your brother, perhaps? Harry couldn't find it in himself to send that thought as well.

"Izumi-sensei, she was our teacher. She _would_ know how to open the Gate. No doubt Dante taught that to her- Dante!"

Harry arched an eyebrow in question, but Edward wasn't looking at him. He was staring blankly at the wall, reminiscing.

"She could have survived. She could be alive…"

Harry had always thought that Dante was a man's name, but in a place that was called 'Amestris', city that was called 'Central', and individuals running around with names like 'Wrath', 'Gluttony' or 'Envy', a she-Dante was quite moderate.

"But that would mean that… the war… Dante… They want to make the Philosopher's Stone again! So soon! I've got to go, Harry, I really have, I've got to inform the Colonel and-"

'I'm afraid it's too late for that, Ed,' Harry stated, having convinced himself to look furher into Edward's head. What he found wasn't too nice, but at least he understood the boy better. Much better.

And he was sure that if Edward's brother had known half the things Edward knew, Voldemort had already met this Dante and right now they were either in the middle of negotiation, or Voldemort was very angry and Dante very dead.

'And with Voldemort there as well…' Harry let the mental silence resound and he was sure the boy got the message. His hands were fisted again, and quiet sobs quaked his body.

'The deal I told you about…'

"Yeah?" asked Ed and Harry suspected _he_ wasn't listening. But Harry didn't _need_ him to _listen_.

'In the spirit of your Eqivalent Exchange: I'll save your Colonel and you'll take care of Draco.'

"Malfoy? But… I can't."

'I'll… take his magic away.'

"You can do that?"

Harry looked at Draco's sleeping face and stroked the pale hand sticking out from under the cover that belonged to a dead boy.

'It's said to be impossible, but I have to.'

"Then… for how long?"

'Until I come back.' Harry smiled at Draco, and then, still smiling, glanced up at Ed. The golden eyes looked at him with a strange, contemplative depth that reminded him of Hermione, but Hermione never managed this level of that particular way of looking at somebody. And he knew that Edward understood that 'until I come back' might have very well meant 'permanently'.

Edward nodded.

o

A/N: Review, please…  
Brynn


	13. Irony

Last chapter! Stay tuned for the Epilogue! Review!  
Brynn

Chapter 12: Irony

'I shouldn't be here.'

Ed kept repeating the thought to himself like a mantra, hoping that it would distract him from what was currently going on in front of him. Harry and Draco – he had forced himself to think about them like that – both knelt on Alphonse's bed, facing each other and holding hands.

He had never seen anything this… this… anything _like_ this. It was _magic_. That something between them reminded him of himself and Al, but this _connection_ was on an entirely different level. He guessed that it might have been what people called love.

Sure, he loved Al, in fact Ed loved Al more than anything in the world, but it just wasn't this unrestrained spontaneous elemental emotion. The air cracked with cumullated energy and then, when Ed finally thought he couldn't watch further and had to run away, there was a short flash of light and the tension in atmosphere released. The only things that suggested something had happened there were the faint smell of ozone and the limp body in Harry's arms.

The white-haired man (when did the hair grow _that_ long?) was clutching it, _hanging_ to it, with his face buried in the nape of its neck. Ed knew he shouldn't have spoken.

"Is he…"

'He's going to be alright. But with the magic of a common Muggle – means no magic at all…'

"What did you do?"

Harry lay Draco gently on the bed, covered him up to the chin, and left the room, dragging Edward out by _his_ wrist when he seemed to hesitate.

'I stole it. I stole it all…'

"What are you going to do now?"

Harry let go of Ed's hand and disappeared.

o

'I'm going to kill 'the bastard'.'

Harry for a fact knew exactly what it was he was giving in exchange for being able to do magic here (which was one of the most important reasons why he stole _all_ Draco's magic) and thus destroying Voldemort all of sudden became a game of wit that had _nothing_ to do with sheer power. Having spent half of his life hiding his secrets from Dumbledore, Snape, Moody, Remus, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Draco, Harry was quite accomplished in that.

He didn't doubt Voldemort was as well, but after that show in Risembool he also new that right now the wizard was weak and could be weakened further by simply making him feel threatened. Which was sort of Harry's mission anyway.

"Get out of the way!"

Harry ducked, subconsciously putting up a shield. There was machine gun fire, a _snap_ and a single shot.

'Great. I Apparated into the middle of a battle.

At least I know Ed knows his geography.'

"Is he alright?" asked an anxious boyish voice.

"How did a civillist get in here – unless he is-"

"Fullmetal!"

Harry looked up at ten booted feet.

'Bloody instincts; I would feel better if I met somebody random for a change.'

"Don't be stupid, Sergeant. Fullmetal is at least three inches shorter."

o

Roy's eyes skimmed the figure lying on the cobbled stone in the centre of the former street. The young man was definitely _not_ Edward, despite the fact that he wore clothes that might have been Edward's. Roy knew damn well that the child had a set of black tank tops, black pants and black boots, but he had never heard that Edward started lending them out.

Apart from the three odd inches, this person's hair was _white_, not blonde, as even Fury could have noticed, and clashed rather unnaturally with the otherwise obvious youth of the body. The _complete_ (and vastly thinner than Edward's trained) body. Because, even though they couldn't see both legs, both arms were flesh. And then the boy looked up and they could all see that he was _not_ Fullmetal, because he had these striking green eyes.

Hawkeye gasped and aimed her gun at the person, but Havoc and Fury were already squatting next to him. Roy suppressed a sigh. Another hold-up. At this rate they were going to reach the main battle after it ended. Not that he was keen on dying… but he didn't like the waiting.

"This is a warzone. I am Colonel Roy Mustang of the National Military. State your name and business."

The green-eyed boy looked at him with amazement, then slapped his forehead and gestured that he was mute.

'Oh, joy.'

"Colonel!"

He looked to the right and brought his hand up in a reflex, but Riza had been faster. Her gun barked twice and both shots hit the long dark shape that appeared in the alley.

He dismissed the person as dead – Hawkeye never missed – but they walked on, completely ignoring that they had – at least in the way Roy understood it – just received two fatal shots. As he knew Riza it was one to the head and one to the heart to make sure. But they _still_ walked on, with that ridiculous black cape flapping in the wind that just wasn't there. An occasional breeze, maybe, but not strong enough to move clothes. Fucking Homunculi.

"Potter…" the thing hissed.

The Fullmetal-ish clad boy climbed to his feet with his face screwed up in hatred first, but then he let it ease, and eventually even smirked. Roy had an eerie feeling as though Edward was there, even though it was completely irrational to believe that the brat's presence would change anything… He knew he was going to die even _before_ he reached the battle.

o

'Hello, Tommy.'

Harry had expected at least a thunder, or a flourish, but there was no dramatic sound effect accompanying the statement that had just sealed his fate. He thought a well-Occluded wordless goodbye to Draco and, not letting his feelings show on his face, stood straight, smirking at the creature.

'I have not been awaiting you.'

'I couldn't miss this.'

No, he had promised to ensure that the black-haired man that was standing two steps from him, the one with deep dark eyes and a voice that sounded of jessamine, would see the lights of the morrow. And would come back to Central. He had enough life for that, as long as he managed to provoke the snake-face.

He _Accio_ed both wands out of his boots and held them loosely in both hands.

'I saw your shoddy work in Risenbool. Didn't take too much effort to figure out where I can meet you. Not that I yearned to meet you again… I just hate leaving work half-done.

Missing Lucius? Severus? Or Bella?'

Lestrange was sure to strike. No matter how emotionless the 'Dark Lord' claimed to be, Harry knew that there was just a Slytherin underneath it all. And, after a year spent so close to Draco, he knew how to deal with Slytherins – especially how to enrage them.

'And now you're alone, homesick, and helpless.'

'I can eradicate every human within the walls of this city.'

Harry peripherally noticed movement among the soldiers. The woman fired again, not understanding why her well-aimed bullets made no damage becase she couldn't see the shield Voldemort had erected around himself.

He Petrified Mustang. If he was the kind of man Ed had thought, there was no other way of ascertaining he wouldn't try and take on Voldemort one on one…

'No. I don't think you can. I would even _bet_ that you can't. What say you? If you win… you can kill me and I won't put up resistance.'

Riddle stopped, keeping distance most likely due to Harry's sudden unpredictability.

'That's ridiculous. You will be dead by that time.'

Harry smirked again. Riddle had bought it. So it was done. Finished. Draco was going to stay with Edward. There was only one more thing for him to do.

'Then what's stopping you from doing it?'

Voldemort hissed instead of response.

Harry braced himself and layer after layer, thread after thread worked all the excessive magic he could reach into the most powerful, the steadiest shield he had ever created. It would have made Flitwick proud, but… the sphere barely stretched far enough to protect himself and Mustang. The woman, the two men who had looked whether he wasn't injured, and the one who had noticed Riddle as first would die.

Equivalent Exchange.


	14. Epilogue

This, my friends, is the end of the story. There will not be a sequel. There will not be a prequel, unless somebody else writes it… :-)) Though I doubt there's anything more to say. Enjoy. Review.  
Brynn

Epilogue

"Who are you?"

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying… in somebody's arms. It was a beautiful feeling… he had always wished he would die like this. With someone who loved him holding him… but this man didn't love him. This man didn't even know who Harry was…

'I'm Harry… Potter…'

"What… were you doing here, Harry?"

'I… had to… destroy Voldemort. Save… save…'

Roy Mustang shook his head and a sing of despair flashed in his eyes. Harry was being lifted into a half-sitting position to have a look around. The place seemed… untouched. As though nothing happened there; nothing at all but the inviolate corpses littering the ground indicated a massive Avada Kedavra that was cast on the entire area… and, according to Harry's calculations, that meant Voldemort was history.

'Is he… is…'

"Save who?"

'You. Save Colonel Roy Bastard Mustang… Is he-'

"I'm alive," the man said quietly. Roy Mustang's eyes suddenly lacked the helplessness, wide as Harrys' own, as he had realised who caused this… Who was at fault that the Fullmetal-ish boy in _his_ arms was dying, who was at fault that Roy himself still lived… Harry smiled, but then his smile faltered as he felt the panic rise.

'Is Voldemort…'

"That Homunculus?" Roy Mustag had mistaken Voldemort for an immortal non-human being? Ironic. "He's gone."

'He's left or's dead?'

"Dead."

Harry smiled again.

'Good. Roy Mustang… promise, you have to promise…'

"What?"

'You have to go back to Central. Take care of Edward… He's… he-'

"What? Mr Po- Harry… you're injured…"

'Yeah. That's alright. Alright. Tell Dray I love him.'

"You're wounded?"

'No… dying of… old age…'

"Old age! But… you can't be older than…"

'Seventeen. I'm seventeen.' He laughed. 'And look at me.'

"You're delirious. I'll take you to the doc's and-"

'Promise me, Roy Mustang. Please… Promise me.'

The Colonel paused, hesitated before standing up, looking into Harry's eyes. He must have realised that Harry was telling the truth about himself dying, and therefore there was no hurry to get him to the camp to ensure him medical care. It was too late… whether he understood why or not, Harry was dying.

There was but a single thing he could do.

"I will take care of Edward, Harry."

'Farewell, Draco…'

o

One last temp and Draco broke the surface of the pink sugary liquid he was flowing in and inhaled deeply. He looked down; there was a bright green pool and shiny, crystal-clear water falling down from the rock into a cloud of tiny drops. There was a rainbow; one end of it remained covered, dipped in the cloud, the other…

A boy was coming down from the other end, stepping lightly on the insubstantial stripes of colour. He had short black hair, dazzling green eyes, and wore a plain black uniform robe. He was smiling.

Draco felt something within him, some other _Draco_, rising and overtaking him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you," he whispered and Harry was smiling, and this time Harry was truly happy, hopping off the rainbow on a moss-covered boulder sticking out of the water, pulling Draco up to him and into his arms.

"It's alright, Draco. It was my job, anyway… How are you?"

"Now?" The blonde looked into Harry's eyes – Harry's truthful, smiling eyes. "Just fine."

Harry laughed, and it sounded like the torrent, a stream of alive fresh water playing music on pebbles like on a xylophone.

"I'll be waiting for you."

Draco pushed the bangs out of Harry's face and lightly kissed _his_ lips.

"I'll be coming. Shortly."

"Don't. You've got a long life in front of yourself, and Edward will take care of you."

"I don't want to. I want to be with you-"

"There'll be time enough for us. You… have to wake up now."

"I don't- Harry!"

o

"Hey, Bastard!"

"That's _Colonel_ Bastard for you, Fullmetal," Roy struck back, unfazed. Ed smiled and stroked the platinum hair of the boy who was curled on the seat next to him with his head in Edward's lap.

"Yadda yadda, Roy…" Ed's cheerfullness dissipated as the Rockbell house came into their view. The car stopped in front of the garden wall and Roy turned in the front seat.

"Are you going?"

Ed's lip trembled as he looked into the empty windows. He knew he should have gone, but… he didn't want to.

"I…"

"Ed-"

"Am. Watch Draco for me for a while."

He gently laid the head of the slumbering boy into the dip in the leather created by his body and stepped out on the wet grass. It was fresh after recent rain, and there was a pleasant scent hanging in the air.

He didn't look back, in the fear of turning around and fleeing if he did. The front door was open, a hole with scorched edges instead of lock exposed a blur of the cerulean background. There was not as much mess inside as he had anticipated – he had seen ransacked houses before and this one was in much too much order… then again, he could quite well imagine that nothing that concerned a certain Harry Potter in any way ever came out as normal.

There was a track of dark brown drops leading him upstairs, into their – his and Al's – room. He followed, trying to brace himself, but failing, because when he opened the door, there was an empty suit of armor laying lifelessly on the floor.

o

A sharp scream cut the air and Roy's body followed his reflexes without consulting his brain. He opened the car door and ran out, into the house and up the stairs, because Edward's voice had sounded from the first floor. He knew this room.

Ed was kneeling on the floor in the middle of a pool of dried blood, helplessly clutching a metallic helmet. Roy stood still, shivering. There must have been a logical explanation…

He closed his eyes and shook his head. After the battle… Edward was the only one who remained. Apart from himself, of course. Fullmetal and Flame. A Colonel and a Major.

A lone man and a lone boy.

Ed looked up and there was this sober look in his face and that meant that he had admitted, comprehended, and already started accepting. He stretched out his hand and Roy saw a flash of green in his eyes (which he was sure was either a play of light, or his own eyes cheating him).

'Thank you Harry Potter, whoever you were…'

"Come on, Ed. We've got to go-"

"I don't understand, Roy," the blonde said quietly, with a morbid serenity. "The circle… is complete. He _should_ be alive…"

Roy shook his head. As far as his mind was capable of embracing the concept, Alphonse should have been dead for long years. Ed had cheated death once and… against the force Roy had seen eradicate his unit even a genius Alchemist couldn't do anything. If _this_ was a doing of the same force – as Ed seemed to be sure it was – Alphonse simply _was dead_.

He led the boy out, and to his own surprise, _he_ was following quietly and steadily, holding himself strong. Edward was going to be depressed soon, and probably delve head-first into work from the sheer need of taking his mind off the loss, and Roy secretly promised himself to be there for him.

Just as he secretly hoped that Edward would stay, because, if he was truthful with himself, the boy was the last person in the world Roy cared about who was still alive. And if _he_ was gone… there would be nothing left to live for.

Metal impacting with a doorframe clunk, and Roy looked up. The car was standing where it had been before… open. But… Edward had shut it…

His eyes skimmed the road, but Ed was already running back the way they had come from, down to the ghost town of Risenbool…

Roy forgot about the car and set out after Edward, panting…

'How fast can a deranged man run?'

There _he_ was, standing in front of a former ice-cream trolley and laughing, and Roy didn't hear the roar of an approaching engine, because there was blood pumping in his ears… Ed sprinted, as fast as he could, crossed the distance, but Draco stretched his arms sideways and, as though balancing on a beam, stepped out into the street.

There was a thump that Roy _could_ hear despite the blood. He had closed his eyes… when he opened them again, Ed was standing frozen on the side of the street, breathless, incomprehensive…

The truck was ignored, as were the cries of the driver, and Roy could only motionlessly watch as Ed stepped forward and stoically knelt next to the broken body of a boy with a curtain of platinum hair splayed over the face.

He could only observe as Edward pushed the hair aside and looked into the pale face and into unseeing, unblinking grey eyes… There was a tiny trickle of blood flowing from the corner of Draco's mouth…

Then he was close enough, not aware that he had moved, to hear a whispered word coming from those pale lips…

"Harry…"

And then there was silence and Edward picked the body up, cradling it to his chest and looked at Roy with a faint smile.

"I… I wanted him to stay with me… wanted to ake care of him…" Ed said and thick watery tears fell on Draco's face.

"Ed-"

"But he's better off with him, ne? Isn't he, Roy? Wherever… wherever they are… Isn't he better with Harry?"

Roy extended his hand and smeared the tears with his thumb.

"Yes, I suppose he is."

OWARI


End file.
